Mission Implausible Diary

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Mission:Implausible 2007

The story of a solo round-the coast trip roundMainland Britain for charity on a 90cc step thru

motorcycle.

By Chris Gordon



A brief prologue

What this trip was all about…

In November 2004, I was on holiday in Adelaide, Australia. I was there to actas best man for a very close friend, Joe.

A few days after the wedding, with the bride and groom off on theirhoneymoon, and whilst I was idling around Joe's father-in-law's house (hewas putting me up) and waiting for my flight home in a day or two, Ireceived a text message from another friend telling me that Budgie had diedsuddenly.

Budgie, or Anthony Child, to give him his proper name, was 33 years old. Hehad died from a heart condition- suspected ARVC, or Arrhythmogenic Right

Ventricular Cardiomyopathy . Although he had had trouble with his heart onone previous occasion several years previously, he had been healthy eversince then, and as far as most of us were concerned, was perfectly fit andhealthy. One moment he was there, the next minute he had gone. His deathwas shocking to his many friends and acquaintances, and devasting to hisgirlfriend and family. As for me, I went out into the garden and sat with abeer, feeling decidely sorry for myself, and although there were peoplearound me, I felt very much alone. It's at times like these when you realisehow important your friends are to you.

On my arrival back in the UK, I was glad I had received the text message-

although it had been horrible at the time, to have arrived back home on ahigh, only to receive such bad news would have made the situation ahundred times worse.

As the first anniversary of Budgie's death approached, I was told that therewas going to be a charity fundraiser in his memory, a bit of a knees-up in anearby village hall organised by Angie, Jack and Steph-his mum, dad andsister. This was my first introduction to the charity this whole journey is inaid of- Cardiac Risk in the Young.

During the evening, Jack made a speech to all of us who were there,explaining the support they had received from the charity during thedifficult period following his death, and it was at that moment that Idecided that I wanted to do something myself- both to raise money andawareness for the charity, and to do something in memory of Budgie.Perhaps also to get my head round the whole thing too.

A little about Budgie... Budgie wasn't always known as Budgie. Having both grown up in a fairlysmall village in the exciting wilds of sunny North Bedfordshire, we'd known

each other since we started at primary school. Back then he was known by



his proper name, Anthony, which later became shortened to Ant by mostfolk that knew him.

The 'Budgie' moniker was my elder brother and his mate Darren's fault. Oneday, when we were in our teens and were generally loafing about the place

when one or the other of them said,

'Doesn't Ant look like a budgie?'

That there was little, if any, substance to this statement is immaterial. Thename stuck. For a while, at least. It was used on a daily basis for a couple of months, then as quickly as it had come into existence, it disappeared again.

However, you can't keep a good nickname down, and at some point peoplestarted using it again, and this time, much to the eternal annoyance of hismum, it stayed for good.

Several years after we left school, Budgie first moved to a town up the road,then eventually he went to Ireland with his girlfriend. Even though I onlysaw him every year or so, whenever we met up, it was just like two matesmeeting in a pub that saw each other on a regular basis- easy going and alaugh. Many friends come and go, but over the years there are always a fewthat you know, no matter how far away they may be, will always be therefor you, one way or another. I've been fortunate enough in my life to have anumber of friends like that, and Budgie was one of them.

I'm fairly sure that he would have seen the humour in a sixteen stone,shaven-headed and bearded bloke attempting a 3500-mile journey on an89cc stepthrough...



The brief of ‘Mission:Implausible’

(What follows is an original extract from my website explaining what I wasintending to do)

‘When I first realised I wanted to do something for the charity, I really didn't have a clue as to what it should be. I soon came to the conclusionthat it should be something I could already do, and as a result I realised that it would have to involve motorcycles in some fashion. But what could I do that would hopefully make people part with their hard-earned cash and sponsor me. Clearly I would be riding a bike from one

place to another, but in order to be worthwhile, it needed to be a) achallenge, and b) something unusual. That was when I came up with the idea of riding a stepthrough from Land'sEnd to John O'Groats. The ride would obviously have to include my journey to Land's End from my Home, and also the Journey from John O'Groats onthe way back. After a short while I modified this slightly to include themost southerly and northerly points on the British mainland, namely Lizard

point in Cornwall, and Dunnet head, way up in the highlands of Scotland.

Whilst trying to find a suitable route, I searched the internet and found several routes as detailed by cyclists (with the relatively low maximumspeed of the bike, staying to the more minor roads like a cyclist is no bad thing). I also found out that the whole 'end-to-end on a Cub90' thing had

been done before. Several times. My next thought was to still do the trip, keeping the destinations already mentioned, then adding the most easterly and westerly points of themainland to make things a bit more interesting. My cousin then suggested doing the whole of the coast. At first I thought it was madness (in truth, it

probably is) and that it was simply too far, but a little more research onthe internet showed that several motorcyclists had done it before, that itwas possible, and as far as I could tell, none of them had ever attempted iton a stepthrough. Thus was the idea formed and somehow I found myself telling everyone elsewhat I intended to do. No backing out, time to put my money where my mouth is.

Also worth mentioning is my reasoning in choosing the mighty Honda C90 as my weapon of choice. There are many motorcycles more suited to thetask at hand, but making it more difficult hopefully makes it moresponsorable, and with a little luck, will also make people more inclined to

put their hands in their pockets to support a worthy cause. There is alsoconsiderable comedy value in a sixteen-stone, shaven-headed and bearded

biker putting along on a stepthrough that simply can't be ignored.



The Route: I've spent quite some time messing about with road atlases and route-

planning software, and have arrived at a provisional route. The route is almost 3500 miles in length, and I've tried to take the closest

practical route to the coast that I can. There are some areas where theroads have meant that staying really close to the coast isn't really possible ,especially in Northern Scotland where the coast is very rugged and theroads are far and few between, but on the whole the route rarely ventures

further than 10-15 miles inland, and for the majority of the time is muchcloser to the coast than that. In the 14 days that I have to complete the

journey, this seems to be the best route that I can take. The journey willstart and finish at King's Lynn, for no other reason than it seems to be theclosest point of the coast to my home in sunny North Bedfordshire, and I'll

be going clockwise. Each day will involve around 250 miles of riding, and I could be on the road

for ten or eleven hours at a time, not allowing for any breakdowns I may suffer. Navigation will be difficult, as I have almost no sense of direction(I've actually gone and bought myself- out of my own pocket- a GarminStreetpilot 2610 satnav- assuming the wee generator on the Honda will takethe strain, I'll be able to pre-program the route, and know exactly where Iam at all times-plus it comes with a car kit so will come in handy in themotor too...), and I suspect sitting on a bike for that long every day willtake its toll-both physically and mentally.

Just to add to the fun, and make life even more uncomfortable for myself (and to help keep my organising costs down- I'm covering my own costs-

petrol, food, accomodation etc., though if anyone can help, then I'll gladly listen to any ideas!), most if not all, of my overnight stops will be spentunder canvas, rather than in hotels or B&B's. Fun.’



And here at last, in its unexpurgated glory, is mydiary of the trip:

Day 1- Saturday June 2nd, 2007 - 240.6 miles

The clock at the beginning!

I had been half expecting a big send off- the local papers might be coming,or at least that might be in the pipeline, I had been led to believe. I hadn’treally wanted a send off at all- I’m not that sort of person. I would havebeen happy enough just saying goodbye to my family and then sloping off without ceremony, but even I could see that there were people who wantedto see me on my way, and if the papers did come, then surely that couldonly help- both my fundraising and awareness of the charity. In truth, I wasmore nervous about a big send off and being in the limelight than I wasabout the trip.

In the end, I needn’t have worried. Budgie’s family had come along to wishme well, and a few of my mates who didn’t have too vicious a hangoverfrom their Friday night’s drinking had also showed up. More what I wanted,and better for my nerves.



A few pictures were taken, my chaotic luggage arrangements were discusseda few times, as was the wisdom of the whole affair, then eventually it wastime for me to bite the bullet and hit the road.

My brother followed me for the first fifteen miles or so, just to ensure that

everything was as it should be- luggage fixed securely, bike running okay(the luggage arrangements had only been sorted the previous night andweren’t road tested, the bike still hadn’t been ridden by me for more thantwenty-odd miles at a time, and here I was, setting out on a three and ahalf thousand, 14-day trip…) and the like.

The first part of the journey was fairly routine- after my brother had turnedround and headed for home, I was still in familiar territory- Huntingdon andChatteris passed by quickly enough, then I was heading onto roads I hadtraveled only once or twice on trips to the coast. Beyond that, it wascompletely new. The little coloured lines in the road atlas and on mycomputer screen that had become so familiar were now real roads, and Ibegun to realize just what I had undertaken.

Aside from an occasional disconcerting front end wobble (caused largely bymost of the weight being towards the back of the bike) the bike performedwell- the Honda Cub could never be described as fast, but the top speedseemed to be unaffected by the combined weight of both myself (not light)and luggage (not that light either).

The first tank of petrol was gone in around sixty miles- I was quite shocked

as I’d hoped to get much more from a fill. My petrol can was full, however,and was pressed into service- after filling the tank I still had half a can. Thecombination of throttle to the stop riding for mile after mile (this was out inThe Fens- flat as a flat thing that’s been flattened by an even flatterthing…) and the tank being a couple of litres smaller than I thoughtexplained a lot. The next tank, after I changed my style to riding slightlyless flat out, lasted almost eighty miles, more like the figure I was hopingfor. By the end of the day, I had used around two and a half tanks full, sothere was nothing to worry me too much.



Once I passed King’s Lynn (my official coastal starting point) and startedriding round the coast of East Anglia, the sea mists started coming andgoing, and stayed with me until North Walsham, where they cleared forgood and let the sunshine through.

Other than that, the riding was fairly routine- occasionally the sat nav wouldsend me somewhere bizarre, but that was my own fault- I’d chosen and pre-

loaded the routes into it, and on a few occasions I turned too early or toolate, and once even the wrong way entirely! My only real trouble waschanging gear- down changing to be more accurate. I decided to wear mytrusty army boots on the journey, but I hadn’t bargained on the fact that Ididn’t have much ankle movement in them. The Cub has a heel/toearrangement for changing gear- you press down with your toes to go up thegears, down with your heel to come back down. Only problem- I couldn’tmove my heel even enough to touch the pedal, let alone press it down, so Ihad to resort to putting my toes back and doing it that way instead. As theclutch is part of the lever mechanism, this was at times somewhat clunkyand inelegant. But it worked!

Stops were few and far between at first. I just wanted to get as many mileson the clock as possible. Then the pain set in. The saddle was notcomfortable in the long term. After a few hours sitting down, somethinghappens to the muscles in your arse- they start to cramp up. Any attempt tomove to a new position merely causes fresh pain as you release the tension,then a brief respite, then the pain returns as bad as before. To makematters worse, being fairly tall I sit well back in the saddle- this puts muchof my arse on the metal rack that has replaced the pillion seat. Owwwww!As the pain intensified and I realized that the reality of the journey was

going to be much harder than I had ever imagined, I found myself once



again questioning the wisdom of the whole affair. Just what had I let myself in for, I wondered…

I finally arrived at my campsite near Maldon in Essex at around 5.30pm. Iwas pleased with my progress- my daily mileage schedule seemed

achievable if this first day was anything to go by, and I was looking forwardto getting something to eat and a shower. I put the bike on it’s stand, andphoned home, letting everyone know I had arrived safely. Whilst I was onthe phone, the bike fell over. A lesson learnt- never put an overloaded C90on its sidestand on grass…

Sadly, I never did get that shower. The shower block was locked, and as itwas early on a Saturday evening, I couldn’t find anyone to get the keys off. Igave up, cooked myself some food and had a cuppa, then turned in early.Tomorrow was going to be another long day, and I thought it wise to get asmuch sleep as I could before my early start. I also resolved to take morepictures the next day- so obsessed was I with getting the miles under mywheels, I hadn’t really taken the time to stop and enjoy the sights...



Day 2- Sunday June 3rd, 2007 - 245.5 miles

The clock at the beginning of day 2!

What a day- and not in a good way either. The south coast was a nightmare-busy as hell (it was a Sunday after all…), and the route consisted of townafter town, and speed camera after speed camera.To top it all off, my arsewas hurting even more than ever.

The day was another misty one up until around 1pm or so, and the tent wassoaking wet when I took it down (and wet when I put it back up again, but itsoon dried out in the evening sun). The mist made for a distinct lack of

views, not that I really had much time to appreciate them anyway.

Orfff to Maargate!

It was a real slog- mile after mile of pain, and again I found myself questioning why I had decided to do thiswas I mad? I adopted a techniqueof riding for as long as I possibly could before the pain made me stop. Justrepositioning myself on the seat took an enormous effort of will, and eachtime I did it, I gave a semi grunt, semi whimper of pain, and it brought tearsto my eyes- it really was that bad.

There were some highlights on the journey, despite the pain- the QE2 bridgeover the Thames was a giggle- the Cub struggled on the way up (as far asbridges go, it’s pretty steep!), then went like stink on the way down- fun!



I enjoyed the decent into Dover and seeing the docks- I hadn’t been theresince a school trip to France in the early eighties. I wanted to get a pictureof the cub with the cliffs in the background, but sadly, every opportunitywas foiled by ‘no stopping regulations’.

Several friends wanted to ride with me for a bit , but my ‘keep pushing on’attitude, a breakdown of communications, and some on the fly routechanges put paid to that.

I got to the campsite at around 5.45pm, after almost eleven hours of non-stop riding. The site was pleasant enough, nothing fancy, only a few tents,but thankfully a decent shower block. I had a shower and felt at least semi-human again, but abandoned the idea of a shave as there was no hot waterin the sinks. I considered letting my beard (and my hair) grow during myjourney, in a Ewan McGregor style. He had done it during ‘The long wayround’, so why shouldn’t I? the idea of myself with hair was entertaininganyway- it’s been a long, long time since it grew longer than stubble.

My friend Victor caught up with me at the campsite- she had been ridingpillion with a friend, and with another mate on a second bike, had beentrying to catch up with me all day, but had failed to do so. When youconsider they were both riding Hinckley triumphs, at first this soundsimpressive. In truth, the reality was less so. Whilst I was going flat out,stopping only when it was absolutely necessary, they were stoppingregularly, going for a wander, buying chips and ice cream etc. as took theirfancy. Their encouraging words at the campsite really helped me a lot

though, and the visit, however brief, was a very welcome one. She alsomade me a sticker for the bike, so the charity’s name was now emblazonedproudly along it.

It began to occur to me that I was passing through (and often passing by) alot of places, yet sadly I was getting to see none of them- they just cameand went very, very quickly. I promised myself that someday I’d revisit atleast some of them, and have a proper look.



The campsite was blissfully quiet, so at least I got a decent night’s sleep-whether anyone else did after I inevitably started snoring (I snore like a V8chainsaw), was another matter entirely...



Day 3- Monday June 4th, 2007 - 255.3 miles


The tent went away wet again. In the morning it was a case of just get upand get moving. By the time the sun was up enough to dry the tent out, I'dhave lost another couple of hours, minimum. The previous couple of dayshad shown me that I'd be riding for longer than I'd hoped each day, so therewas no time to muck about.

As I rode off site I was hoping the little cafe would be open, but it was notto be. From what I'd read in reviews of the site, they did a nice littlebreakfast there which would have set me up nicely for the day. As I got outonto the main road, I also noticed a pub a few hundred yards from the site-all I'd had the previous night was Super Noodles and some cup a soup, if onlyI'd asked around and someone had told me about it, perhaps I could havehad a decent bit of grub, or at the very least, a decent drop of beer! Ahwell, another lesson learned!

I filled the bike with petrol and had scant consolation for my missedbreakfast with a wedge of ballast in the form of a pork pie from the servicestation cold cabinet (nice, but not exactly a hearty breakfast...), then itwas onwards and upwards once more.

Portsmouth and Southampton were both busy as hell- it was around rushhour and they were both traffic-heavy, and very slow going. Trying to followsat-nav directions at the same time as weave through stationary traffic is askill which takes some learning, but one I was picking up fast. Anyone who'sridden a bike in heavy traffic will know the dangers of half-asleep driverswho change lanes just as you get alongside them, or who insist on drivingstraight out in front of you at roundabouts- fun!

As I got into the New Forest things got better- the road was open and had alot less traffic, and although I wasn't going fast, the sunny tree-lined road

and general feel good factor of the whole thing took my mind off the ever-present pains in my arse and reminded me what it is that's so great aboutriding bikes*- of any capacity.

Next it was back to reality with a bump as I hit Bournemouth and Poole andhit more traffic, then another open road blat along to Weymouth and thenLyme Regis. A few miles later I came up against my first big hill. It wassteep, and very long, and as I ascended the poor Cub started to struggle.Down into second, then first as the hill got even steeper near the top, theengine screaming blue murder and speeds dropping to about fifteen milesper hour. I stopped in a layby near the top and took this photo:



Steeper than it looks!

The incline looks almost innocuously shalow, but looks are deceiving. A 90ccbike with 230+ of fat bugger on it and a big pile of luggage too, and a hilllike that becomes, shall we say... interesting.

The roads along the coast became truly great- small yet flowing. Cub goesmad in Dorset!

Exeter was the usual urban hell, too much traffic on the roads. Torquay waspretty much as i'd imagined it, complete with a few palm trees dotted aboutthe place, though sadly there was no sign of Basil Fawlty. I found myself wondering if the building used as the exterior of Fawlty Towers was actuallyin the area- if it was, it might have been worth a stop and a photo or two,but as ever time was against me and I wasn't about to hang around andactually ask.

I got in a bit of a tizz as I approached Plymouth- I'd done the whole route forthe sat nav by hand, adding waypoints to keep the software from routing me

along the roads it thought I should take and to keep me on the roads iwanted to take, and when looking at all the pretty coloured lines on themap, I hadn't realised that the ones I had chosen were occasionally not quiteas substantial a road as I had thought. I was convinced I was in the Englishequivalent of Deliverance country as I went down a tiny tree-lined singletrack road that meandered through god knows where for several miles.



A shot from the day's travels- lord knows where. Answers on a postcardplease. Note cool chalk horse on hill in background.

I was torn between two opposing options, either continue along the roadand hope it soon came back out onto a 'real' road pretty damn soon beforetoo much time was lost trundling along (very slowly- it was twisty and everycorner could have hidden any type of vehicle in the middle of the road), or Icould retrace my steps and backtrack several miles and then try to findanother route. I chose the former, and carried on- a few miles later I came

out onto a bigger road and got moving again.

About the time I crossed the Taymar bridge into Cornwall, the skies wentfirst grey, then black, and for the first time since I had started out, theheavens opened. For about an hour it absolutely pissed it down- there wasone roundabout I went round that had a lake-like puddle about a foot deepon it's inner lane that all the traffic was avoiding. I pulled into a servicestation to get some more fuel, and I caught occasional glances from driverslooking at me as though I were some sort of nutcase (in all fairness, Iprobably was) as I got back on the bike and rode off into the downpour.

By the time I was approaching my campsite the rain had gone and I wasdrying out again, and I spent some time on more tiny winding roads trying tofind it. A quick enquiry in the local pub set me right, and I got to the site tofind reception shut and a note on the door telling me were to pitch up-pitch nine, no less.

A swift recce of pitch nine told me that the slope it was on meant I waseither going to go to sleep with all the blood running from my head to myfeet or vice versa. As there were only a couple of other tents about, Ipitched it somewhere near number eight- still on a slope, but nothing like

the incline of the other. As I pitched up it started to spit with rain and I wasconvinced I was in for another deluge, but fortunately nothing came of it.



The tent up and all my stuff thrown into it, I postponed my shower, leaptback on the cub and rode back to the pub a couple of miles back down theroad. After a chat with a couple of the locals, I had a proper meal- sausageegg and chips if memory serves, and a quick pint, then bought several morebottles of ale and headed back to the campsite.

Once again, I almost missed out on a shower- the note on the door told methey'd give me the code in the morning, but mornings left little time forthat sort of thing. I found someone near the shower block and afterexplaining my situation and the note, they gave me the code, so at least Icould get under some warm water and soak away my aches and pains.

There was a very odd man in a camper van on a pitch not far from my tent.As it got dark he sat in his van playing an accordian (quite badly). I spoke tohim on a couple of occasions, just a friendly good evening as we met enroute to the shower block and all I got was a grunt or two in return-miserable old goat. This was not the last time I got this reaction, it has tobe said.

Another day, another campsite.

Clean and fresh, my belly full, I polished off my take out ale and went tosleep happy.

* So what is it that's so great about riding motorcycles anyway? There's an old saying: "If you understand, no explanation is necessary. If you don't understand, no explanation ispossible". See? Easy.



Day 4- Tuesday June 5th, 2007 - 255.3 miles


The previous night before going to bed I had written a note to the campsiteowners explaining that I had left before they got in. I had noticed that theopening hours were considerably later that I was intending to leave, sopaying up was obviously going to be an issue. I did the usual, explainingwhat I was doing, and also explained that I couldn't remember whether ornot the campsite owners had said I could have a free pitch or not (severaldid, I just couldn't remember whether or not this was one of them), so I leftthem address and said if they wanted to bill me, send it to me and I'd send a

cheque. I popped it in the letterbox as I left.

I checked the oil and adjusted the chain then got underway, in bright earlymorning sun, a change from the misty mornings I had had already begun toexpect. I was in a good mood, as today I was due to visit the famous Land'sEnd signpost and get my photo taken there (this was one of the importantparts of the trip to me). I passed the entrance to the Eden project only afew miles from the campsite, but despite being within what I though mustbe only spitting distance, i saw neither hide nor hair of the huge domesthere.

I got an extra lift as I started to see signs for the Lizard- Lizard Point wasanother important of the trip for me as the most southerly point of mainland Britain. There is a small town (or is it a village? I passed throughtoo quickly to remember...) called Helston near the top of the Lizard, andthe road to Lizard Point start there. there is one road down, and one roadback, and I actually found myself debating as to whether or not I shouldbother with it at all, as going down to the point would mean backtracking.Thankfully I saw the light and decided that it would be a shame to miss it,even though I had been told there was very little to see there.



The 'exciting and interesting' car park at Lizard Point...

When I got down there, I discovered there was small village (called Lizard,according to my road atlas) with a chippy and a few shops dotted about theplace, but to get to Lizard point itself, I had to travel about half a mile or sodown a single track road until I reached a car park (pay and display, noless), where there is a cafe (didn't notice if it was actually open or not), anda small path down to the sea. That's it. why they don't make more of it isbeyond me. Land's End grabs all the glory down here- mainly because of the

'End to End' thing I guess. A lot of people seem to believe that Land's End isthe most southerly point - it isn't - it's just that Land's End and John O'Groatsare the two points on the mainland that are furthest apart (a mere 874miles) and have become famous because of it. Surely the poor old Lizarddeserves some recognition for what it is? Dunnet Head (the most northerlypoint of mainland Britain) similarly plays very much second fiddle to the farbetter know John O'Groats.

All that aside, I must admit that as I approached Land's End a short whilelater, I had a tear in my eye and a lump in my throat, and I gave a brief

whoop of joy inside my lid as I joined the queue to get into the visitorcentre. There is a hotel, souvenir shops and of course that famous sign- theone thing I was really after. In my head, the two most important points of the journey were those two signs- the one here, and its sibling up at JohnO'Groats. The guy on the gate told me that bikes park for free (this is acommon thing wherever there is a charge or toll - bridges especially - I thinkthey don't like to wait as bikers fumble around, taking off gloves, openingpockets and generally fiddle about), cars had to pay three quid apiece, andI'd imagine coaches a considerable wedge more. When I asked him wherethe sign was, I was disappointed to be told that I couldn't take the bikedown to it. Shome mishtake shurely? I'd seen hundreds of photos of people

on motorbikes down there. Still, I decided that the photo was the important



thing, and if I couldn't get the bike in, so be it, and wandered down to thesign.

When I got to the sign itself, the official photographer said, 'You're on a bikemate, go and get it, the other bloke doesn't know what he's on about' , so I

walked back and rode the cub down to the sign.

As I was getting an official photo done, I had the words Mission Implausibleput onto the sign, above the date.

The 'thing' round my neck is what I attached my keys to to keep themsafe when parked up. If they'd told me it was hanging like that when they

took the picture, I'd have moved it. They didn't tell me however, sothere it is for posterity.

I spoke to an older couple with their dog- they noticed the bike, and beingbikers themselves they were interested in what i was doing. I had a goodchat with them, and as ever, whenever someone gave a few kind words of support, it meant a lot to me, and gave me a little extra motivation. I gavethem one of my cards (like a twat, in my hasty preparations I forgot to bringany sponsor forms along- doh!), and they promised to sponsor me - unlikemany people who promised to do the same, a short while after I returnedhome, they actually did, and contacted me by email as well- thank youWendy, Wally and Daisy the border collie (and yes it rhymes, only justnoticed!).



After stopping for somewhat longer than I had intended, it was time to getback on the bike and get moving (wasn't it always?). St. Ives came and wentafter some outstanding roads- lots of hills, corners and abandoned tin mines(I so regret not taking a picture of the biggest one- looking at the map Ithink it may have been the Geevor tin mine museum, there were already

several cars parked up- I decided I had delayed too long at Land's Endalready), and some mad single track roads through tiny hamlets and thelike, then Newquay went the same way- passed through, yet hardly seen.

The winding road from Land's End to St.Ives (this is one of the wide bits!)

Next was the grandly named 'Atlantic highway', where I really started to eatup some miles, making up for the time lost by riding as hard and as long as Icould until I desperately needed to stop. By this time I had developed acurious riding style, leaning forward onto the bars, that way I found I couldtake some of the pressure off my backside and ease the pain a little.Combined with my peculiar 'one arse cheek on, one arse cheek off' sittingarrangement, it helped quite a lot, but ultimately breaks were stillnecessary .

Bude and Bideford went by in the usual blur, then in Barnstaple I hit a snag.the road I had so carefully chosen in my route preparation was blocked-closed completely for repairs. Since the start of day two I had found thatwhenever I went off route, the sat nav tried to recalculate, then had a hissyfit and threw up a route calculation error, which meant I had to stop andthen work out how to get back to the route myself (I've since figured outthat this may have been due to me not having a definite end of route eachday- I just got to where I was going on the map and simply added anotherwaypoint rather than a proper end of route - I may be wrong of course). Inthe end, I wound up in Ilfracombe via roads that took me even closer to the

coast than I had orignally planned, so no real loss there.



Back on the A39, I entered Exmoor national park, with lots more hills to testthe poor old cub to its limit. The one in Lynton was a shocker to get up as Iwent up on to Exmoor (stunningly beautiful, by the way) , but nothingcompared to the similar 25% incline that i had to descend as I went intoPorlock. There was a junction as I approached the bottom of it with signs

telling me that I had to give way to traffic coming up the hill, but my brakeshad faded (the cub is equipped only with a pair of very small drums- finemost of the time, but they were struggling here...) and I couldn't stop. I hadto trust it to fate and scrubbed off only enough speed to get round the turnof the junction - fortunately the road was devoid of traffic, if anything hadbeen coming up I think I'd have have either planted the bike into whateverkind of vehicle presented itself in front of me or ended up on my arse on theroad somewhere. Still -nil desperandum. It's sometimes little moments likethis that remind you you're alive.

My campsite in Porlock (Sparkhayes I think it's called) was superb, with a seaview, a nice clean shower block, and best of all, a pub serving decent foodand a good selection of real ales only fifty yards away. Another full bellyand several pints too many later, I wobbled back to my tent, finallybeginning to see the attraction of this camping lark...



Day 5- Wednesday June 6th, 2007 - 207.4 miles


I had come to the decision during the previous day's travels, to risk thecrossing over the Severn bridge. When I had planned the trip originally I hadplanned to go over it, then after some thought decided that avoiding themotorway would be the better option, even if it added a lot of mileage onthe trip up to Gloucester and back down again. I came to the conclusionthat despite the risks, it would be worth reverting to the original idea andjust going for it. That way I could save a far chunk of mileage, and evenbetter, a fair chunk of time, giving me an hour or two extra to chill outwhen I got to my campsite. Only four days behind me, and already I was a

wreck from all the hours in the saddle.

Every part of me ached, putting the tent up at the end of the day and takingall the stuff off the bike was hard, and taking it down and reattachingeverything in the morning was even more of a chore as I got moreexhausted.

First thing it was cold and the sky was ominously grey, looking as though itwas ready to piss down on me again:

Early morning in Porlock, just before departure.

I left the campsite and rode through the countryside hoping I'd findsomewhere to get something to eat- the day before I had found a roadside

burger van on the way to Land's End, and was hoping something similarwould turn up again. After a while I saw a sign, and was grateful beyond



words when I found it open (all too often I had seen signs directing me to acafe only on arrival to find it closed, or even looking as though it had beenabandoned for years) .

For the first time since setting out I had a proper sit down breakfast and a

cup of coffee. Wonderful. The place was called something along the lines of 'The Hilltop cafe' and is on either the A38 in a place called Pawlett, justnorth of Bridgwater (I think - things were becoming a bit of a continuousblur, and the notes I made in the evening could be wrong... morningssomehow often seemed dislocated from the afternoons, a very peculiarsensation- a brief search on the net, and I think I've got the right place). Ihighly recommend it if you happen to be around that part of the world. Aproper cafe with proper food!

I knew as I rode north that at some point I was going to have to get onto theM5 in order to get onto the M4 to get over the bridge, and I was also eagerto avoid ending up in Bristol and its associated traffic chaos. As I was simplyusing the sat nav as a rolling map rather than showing me a proper route, Isaw the M5 appear and joined it just after Weston-super-Mare. Big mistake.

Not having actually seen how it was from Weston to the M4, I was rathersurprised when I realised just how many miles I was actually going to haveto travel on the motorway. Whilst the Cub was perfectly legal on themotorway for someone with a full license, it was not a wise choice for aroad as fast as this. On the flat it was fine, with enough speed to chuff along happily in the inside lane. On some of the long inclines however, it

slowed down to almost embarrassing speeds, and I fully expected to have apolice car pull me at any moment and interrogate me about my speed (orlack thereof!).

After what seemed like an interminably long time on the M5, it was onto theM49 for more terror as overtaking lorries made me wobble all over the placeas I got caught up in the wake of their turbulence. I'd like to say a particularthank you to the lorry that undertook me as we went from the M5 to theM49, about six inches from my leg. Thanks for that, I didn't shit myself atall.

Next the M4, and the bridge. Where I live the biggest bridge I encounterwith any regularity crosses a small brook about fifteen feet wide, and abouta foot deep, so when I come across a suspension bridge like this one, italways impresses me. Another toll booth barrier opened before me for free,and before I knew it I was in Wales. I rode another couple of miles of Motorway with gritted teeth and exited left at the first opportunity, andfound my way back onto my original route after a brief foray into anindustrial estate that ended in a dead end.

After a morning of reasonably good progress things started to slow again as Iencountered more towns and cities- Newport, Cardiff, Bridgend, PortTalbot, then Swansea and Llanelli. After that little lot was Carmarthen andfinally Pembroke, a mile or so away from my campsite.



And what a good campsite it was too, as good, if not better than the onethe night before, though sadly no pub fifty yards up the road... It was calledWindmill Hill Farm, and although I saw no sign of a windmill I wasn't aboutto complain. It was wonderfully quiet, with the tents in a huge separatefield from the caravans and camper vans, and a great shower block. All this

and cheap- three and a half quid for a night's pitch!

As it was an early arrival (mid afternoon, a couple of hours and changeearlier than I'd been getting to my evening stops), I took my time putting upmy tent, and sauntered over to the shower block and really took my timewith a long hot shower, washing away some of my aches and pains. I alsofinally got around to having a shave- my hair and beard stubble were drivingme to the point of insanity, they had to go, and I had the time to get rid of them!

Self-portrait, taken at Windmill Hill farm campsite. Note freshly-scrapedhead.

There were a couple of other tents in the otherwise empty field, and asked

one of the occupants if there was anywhere nearby I could get some food.He pointed me in the direction of several likely places, but I chose theChinese takeaway option, as from his directions it sounded pretty easy toget to, and avoided too much confusion trying to navigate a big chunk of Pembroke's one way system. This particular place I do remember the nameof - it was called the Pembroke Carvery, and I bought a huge amount of foodand spent a happy hour or so in the porch of my tent stuffing myself silly.All that was missing was a beer or two.

I went to bed early - it was still light I remember - feeling very positiveabout the next day's ride- the extra bit of R&R had done me good. There

would be few large towns, lots of open countryside, and the riding looked as



though it would be pleasant. I had an overpriced campsite at the end of it,but that was the price I had to pay for stopping in a touristy area.

Note: Apologies for the dearth of pictures on this one. I took only five or six photos on thisparticular day- all of which were taken just as I left my site in Porlock, or when I arrived atmy destination. I recall telling myself in the evening to remember to stop, even if just for aminute or two to take a quick couple of snaps here and there- sod the time element, Ineeded a record of all of this. The next day I did so...



Day 6- Thursday June 7th, 2007 - 265.2 miles


The started out quite nicely- more insanely steep hills of course, but thiswas Wales, after all. I actually took some pictures on this leg- the Welshauthority in charge of siting parking spots actually seem to have grasped theconcept of putting the layby in areas where there is something worthlooking at. All too often in my travels through Devon, Cornwall and Somersetthere was something worth taking a picture of, but by the time I foundsomewhere to stop, the view was gone. But in Wales, all was well:

A view from the A487 over St. Davids and St. Brides Bay

Of all the scenarios I had dreamt up before the off of things going wrong,one of the worst actually happened today- the sat nav started playing up,

turning itself on and off repeatedly. I was sure it was vibration, but stoppingand wiggling all of the connections turned up nothing when I was stationary.Several stops later, I still hadn't found the culprit and I was beginning toworry- I'm not known for my navigational skills, and my back-up plancomprised of an A5 road atlas and pot luck. By now the problem wasoccurring as soon as I started the bike, I didn't even need to get moving.

When I stopped for fuel in a small village, I decided to have a real tinkerand see if I could solve my woes. I tried swapping the fuse with a biggerone, and the problem solved itself. I looked at the fuse I had taken out- itwas a 1A rated one, and the tiny wire hadn't blown, but had clearly snapped

due to the constant vibration of the little single cylinder engine. The fuse Ihad put in to test it was a bigger one for the bike's electrical system, and



not wanting to risk such a high rated fuse, I went in and asked the garageowner if he had one I could have.

Glass fuses are becoming more and more of a rarity in the automotiveworld, but in the end he turned up a 2.5 amp one after some dedicated

searchng. Though it was a little bigger I was prepared to risk it- I neededthat damn sat nav!

Cub90 at Cardigan Bay

Back on the road with the sat nav back in full working order, my moodbrightened. I was spurred onto the end of the day's riding because Victorwas coming to the campsite to spend the night. She had told me she feltguilty after not spending long with me on the previous Sunday after it tookthem so long to catch up, but as she also told me they all got soaked on theway back home that evening and I was convinced that was penance enough.Still, I wasn't about to complain- she had promised to buy me dinner and itwould be nice to have some company other than a stranger for a change.

I stopped briefly at a layby (yes, another one- I became intimately familiarwith the things during my trip), the view over the edge down to the sea wasgorgeous- all dry stone walls separating the ground up to the shore intolittle enclosures:



Dry stone shore

Something caught my eye on the parking sign:

No Smoking

Whilst the smoking ban hadn't quite been introduced in England, in Scotlandand Wales it was in full force. I really, really hope this was the result of someone being mischievous, and not some over zealous halfwit from thelocal council getting carried away...

I would like to take this opportunity to mention what I am convinced is themaddest road in Britain. The A55, running east-west across the top of Wales, is insane. Mental. As scary as a motorway on the Cub, even though



it's only a dual carriageway. Some of the people seem to be going so fast,I'm pretty sure they must be arriving at their destinations before they'veeven left home. The thought of the early part of the next day's ride alsostarted to worry me- much of it was on dual carriageways, I could only hopethey were nothing like this one!

I'd also like to say how beautiful the town of Conwy is. I was fortunateenough to see it twice in the space of ten minutes or so. Let me explain...

When I was sorting out the route on my sat nav, I was determined that I wasgoing to decide on the route, not the software. However, somewhere in theoptions I had chosen 'use minor roads', and so at every opportunity, betweenthe points I marked on the map, the software would attempt to divert meoff larger roads (the A55 for instance) and onto smaller ones. At its best, allthis did was send me down a slip road off a dual carriageway, over theroundabout at the bottom, and then back up the slip road onto the dualcarriageway again- annoying, but avoidable. I found that by zooming theview out, I could see in advance that the slip was merely an 'on-off'manouevre and not a real turn, and ignore it. However...

When I got to Conwy, the sat nav told me to come off the dual carriageway.Seeing that it wasn't heading straight back on again, I dutifully followed itsinstructions, and found myself circumnavigating the walled castle there-very nice. After several more turns and corners, I had an insight- a touch of deja vu, if you will. I'd been here before, I was sure. And I had, only aminute ago, I was going round in circles. When it tried to send me back

round again, I ignored its 'turn around' protests, and followed the signs backto the A55. Quite why it had got stuck in an endless loop, I don't know.Looking at the mapping software on my return, it was clear that it haddecided to get me off the main road again- the tangled loops of the routeon-screen paid glorious testament to it. Clearly I hadn't been zoomed in asfar as I should have been when plotting my route, and a misplaced click of the mouse had put a waypoint where it shouldn't have been, sending thesoftware mad trying to fill in the gaps. The lesson to be learned here is this:

Never trust a sat nav.



'Somewhere' in Snowdonia...

After my little scenic detour, I found my way onto the B4319 through Rhyland on to Prestatyn and my campsite. Ouch.

After the previous two nights' campsites, this one came as a bit of a shock.£17.50 for a night's pitch (that's not a misprint- £17.50 - £20 if you're notpre-booked!) , and then they had the cheek to charge for the showers ontop of that. The less said about the gents' toilet block, the better. Victor

described the state of the ladies' block to me later, and by all accounts itwas even worse.

Talking of toilets and showers- why the hell is the shower block in so manycampsites right next to the caravan and camper van pitches? They havetheir own facilities - us in tents don't, yet we are made to walk half thelength of the site to get a shower. Mind you, in the middle of the night I justpiss in the hedge! That's the way to stick it to the man...

By the time Victor arrived, my tent was up. I grabbed a quick shower while

she pitched hers. When I came back, she had unloaded fold up chairs and abottle of wine or two, and an impossibly large amount of stuff from her verysmall Smart car, including a duvet for me, and some proper pillows - thoughit was June, I had been damn cold at night. Then it was off to the pub upthe road for a few pints of Boddies and a mixed grill- bliss upon bliss!Though I was fairly enthusisatic with my praise at the time, Victor willprobably never realise just how good it was to have dinner bought for me,and to have a real chinwag with a very good friend. Ta, Vic - yourencouragement meant a lot.

To sleep, perchance to dream- in real comfort with that pillow and duvet.

Wonderful stuff.



Day 7- Friday June 8th, 2007 - 264.7 miles


Up and about far too early once again, in order to get moving as soon aspossible. In contrast to my careful packing, loading and bungeeing in orderto get everything to fit on the bike, Victor opened the boot of her car andthrew her gear in- as a result she was on the road quite a while before Iwas. Then again, she was going to work when she got home- I only had theroad and another campsite at the end of it.

My fears about the roads around Liverpool et al were largely unfounded -

the dual carrriageways were startlingly quiet, and even the A55 held few of the horrors it had had the previous evening. Before I knew it I had put allthe roads I was dreading behind me and I was on the way to Lancaster.

A few hours in and I had reached the Lake District- utterly stunning, andgreat roads to boot, though the repeated signs telling of 1275 casualties in 5years were certainly food for thought. I stopped at a roadside snackbar, andgot talking to a couple of local bikers- without prompting, they warned meto watch the roads I was heading along. Apparently people drive like twats,particularly on fridays as they are legging it home from work and are prone

to overtaking on blind bends and summits. They also took an interest in theC90 and what I was doing, and gave me a donation for the cause, which wasvery gratefully received. Cheers guys!



A lake district layby!

Although I saw a few speeders, and had one or two cars overtake me far tooclosely for comfort, the scenery more than made up for it. One of the twobikers passed me after I had travelled a few miles and gave me a wave. As

he overtook me and disappeared quickly into the distance, I had one of myoccasional 'I wish I had a few more horsepower' moments but it has to besaid that when you travel slowly, you get more time to see the landscape asyou pass through it, and in the Lake District that's no bad thing...

Whitehaven and Workington both came and went, though strangely, Carlislenever seemed to be any closer until I eventually found myself in it, passingthrough and catching only a fleeting impression of it, as indeed seemed tobe the norm by now.

A road. Not sure quite where. On the way to Scotland though!

Carlisle behind me, I headed towards the Scottish border. I began to see afew places here and there with names such as 'Gretna bakery' and I began to

wonder if I had actually crossed into Scotland without realising it, andconvinced myself that I must have done. However, a few miles later and Isaw the 'First House' and next to it a sign saying 'Welcome to Scotland'.

Now only a few miles from my campsite, i diligently observed my daily ritualof getting hopelessly lost, but I eventually found my campsite up a littlelane. This particular site was a revelation compared to the previousevening, a big caravan site with a smaller area for tents, only a few hundredyards from the sea. £2.50 for the night's pitch, plus a refundable £20 depositon the electronic shower block key. Nice and clean the block was too,better than the grotty hole of the day before.



Sadly there was no nearby pub, but I bought some bangers and eggs at theon site shop (and some tinnies too!) and cremated them all on my stove. Tomy surprise they actually tasted pretty good- there were still some eggsleft, so I put them away in my luggage to eat the following evening if necessary (did they survive? Find out in the next 'thrilling' installment!),

along with a couple of the tinnies I didn't quite manage.

Nice little spot for the evening. Sea just visible between caravans...

I finally crashed out at about half past ten, the evening sky still light.



Day 8- Saturday June 9th, 2007 - 250.2 miles


I was woken up at about 3.30am by the noisy bastards near me playing theradio and jabbering away at full volume. Nice bit of respect for your fellowcampers there folks, thanks for that - last time I lend you my mallet. Youcan knock your damn pegs in with your head for all I care.. After beingwoken a few more times, I managed to drift off properly again before onceagain my alarm went off and it was time to get up and moving.

The tent down and everything packed on the Cub, I walked past my noisy

neighbours' tent to put my rubbish in the bin and to fill my camelback upfrom the tap and their labrador started barking. A lot. Oops. I heard one of the occupants tell the dog to shut up, then their nipper started wailing likean air raid siren. I did feel bad, honest. Karma had asserted its magicalinfluence upon the inconsiderate campers and any earlier feelings of animosity I'd harboured were gone, and I set out on a high.

An early morning shot

I wasn't sure what today was going to bring, but I was looking forward to it.The roads looked as if they would be reasonable going (on paper and on-screen, at least) and I was convinced that I'd make pretty good time. Thecampsite barrier was still down, but I squeezed myself and the Cub througha gap at one end of it.



The morning was misty as all hell, and within minutes of starting out (beforeI had found my way back to the main road) I had to stop and clean my visor.Not that it helped much- the road I was on was within fifty to a hundredyards of the sea, but the mist was so thick I could only hear it.

The A75 towards Dumfries was insane- despite the thick mist, hardly anyoneseemed to bother putting their lights on and lorries (and everyone else forthat matter) were determined to overtake, even if it meant passing within acouple of feet of my elbow- not nice.

When i got onto the smaller A710 just beyond Dumfries the mist waspatchier and when the sun managed to get through, a lot warmer (it hadbeen pretty cold in the early morning mist). The traffic was noticeablyquieter too, and lots of good riding and scenery set the order for the day.

As I had hoped, I ate the miles up- at one point I skipped a small peninsular- the sat nav said 'A746 to unpaved road' (or something very similar) and Ididn't fancy God knows how many miles going along tiny single track lanes(as I had already ended up doing several times before) for hours on end.

The A77 heading north along the coast was fantastic- great roads and lots of stuff to see. I also had a face to face encounter with a three foot long wasp.Okay, it wasn't actually three feet long, but when it got inside my lid andwas flying about inside my visor two inches from my eyes it seemed like it.(How it managed this feat, I'll never know- usually they just go splat if yourtravelling at anything over thirty miles an hour- the size of the splat is

directly proportional to the relative speeds of the parties concerned, andany stinging creature will attempt to avenge its own demise by getting itsstinger into you as it expires- presumably by flying backwards into you...).

Another shot where I can't name the exact location- but at least it hasthe sea in it!



I opened the visor sharpish and pulled the helmet to one side in the hopethat it would blow out of the gap- I didn't know if it had gone, and couldn'teasily stop to find out- these are not the type of roads to screech to a halton unexpectedly when there's someone directly behind you, not to mentionthe blind bends and hidden dips.

I was paranoid that the wasp was still in my helmet near my ear, and that atany moment I'd feel it sting me, but when I finally managed to pull over andtake it off, it had gone. It's always worth remembering - despite their size,wasps are bastards.

My route took me through some very nasty looking places in urban areas -just grim, period. I don't want to mention any names in case I'm doing theseplaces a horrible disservice, yet when I mentioned this notion about onecertain place in particular to Scots though, they seemed to agree.

Tonight's campsite was stunning- the best of the lot as far as scenery goes.It was a huge site right on the edge of Loch Long, nestled in amongst themountains. Being a Saturday evening it was also incredibly popular- I rodearound for a bit before I spotted an open area on a lower level, nicely out of the way (famous last words...) with only a few campers.

The famed West-Scotland midges were out in force and I drowned myself inDeet to keep them away- I could well do without scratching my bites to abloody pulp the next day. I was almost scared to open the mosi door on thetent in case in found there way in there. The Deet seemed to work, and

they kept a respectable distance away.

Much to my surprise, the eggs had survived- I fried them all at once in mypan and ate them, then used the same pan for baked beans, ate those, thenuse the same pan again for noodles. I also had a cup a soup, so at least I wasfull, even if it wasn't an example of culinary genius...

The grassy area I had chosen was by now filling up, and as I washed mycooking gear up, a group of lads in a Vauxhall Vectra drove along the trackthat encircled this small part of the site, looking for somewhere to pitch up.You know that feeling when all you have to do is look at someone and you

just know that they're the kind of people who are going to be a thorn in yourside? I had that feeling at that moment, and I willed them not to decide tostop. On they drove!



A view towards Loch Long from the most scenic campsite of the trip.Idyllic? Not for bloody long...

Ten minutes or so later and they were back. This time they did stop, andproceeded to pitch their tent near me. According to their conversation withsome of the other campers (not many, as most seemed to avoid them likethe plague) they had decided to 'not go out on the town, and go campinginstead'. Promising. Several beers later, the four stooges (or was it five?)had managed to get their tent 'up' (used in the loosest sense of the word)

and they had begun to settle in to drinking proper. And oh boy, did theymake a good job of it.

It was not long after I first got my head down that I begun to wish for myneighbours from the previous night. This lot made the other lot seem likechurch mice, and if there hadn't been four or five of them I would probablyhave shouted at them to shut up. As the night got later, and more alcoholflowed, they got louder and louder- every time I managed to actually nodoff they'd wake me up again. In all fairness, one of them did try to quietenthe others down, but one of those others was quite vocal in his 'F**k the lot

of them' attitude when he was told that other people were trying to sleep.At one point- around four in the morning, I believe, I heard another of myfellow campers finally lose his rag- 'WILL YOUSE LOT SHUT THE F**K UP!' Ibelieve he said, politely. He'd come out for a pleasant evening with his wifeand a couple of little kids only to have to put up with these dicks.

The gates were not due to open until 7.30am, and I had a feeling that thattomorrow was going to be a long ride and that knowing my luck, I'd end uparriving late at the next campsite. I decided I get up at the usual time, andhope that someone would be about early enough to get me out.



Day 9- Sunday June 10th, 2007 - 241.2 miles


Despite the fact that I had only managed a couple of hours real,uninterrupted sleep after the noisy bastards finally knocked it on the head, Istill woke up early as I had planned. Immediately after emerging from mytent I noticed that at least one of my neighbours had packed up their tentand moved (presumably they were still on site as the gates were lockedovernight) to get away from the drunken eejits. This gave me theopportunity to pack my gear up, shall we say ...carelessly. A chance toexact a modicum of revenge on the noisy swines without too much chance

of waking anyone up who I gave a damn about, as all the other tents were areasonable distance away.

The midges that had been out in force the night before were back, only thistime they had brought all their mates with them and had clearly beendrinking Tennants super all night (what with it being a Saturday and all),and now they wanted something to eat- me. I drowned myself in DEET onceagain - squirrels were dropping out of trees as I walked past - but theyremained in a black cloud buzzing around my head as I packed up my gear.

I wanted to check the oil - I had been caning the poor beastie up and down

the hills again and knew I must have used a fair amount - but couldn't find aflat surface to do it. In the true tradition of the optimist I decided 'Sod it -it'll be fine' and decided to make my way through the site towards the gate,where I intended to wait until someone arrived to let me out- it was stillwell before seven. I really couldn't wait to get away from those prats in thatdamn tent.

Much to my delight, the only gate that was closed was a single barrier whichwas down - enough to stop a car, but plenty of room for a two wheeler. Themain gates themselves were wide open and my heart lifted as I got onto theroad unexpectedly early. Never would have I imagined that I'd ever be sopleased to get away from somewhere so utterly beautiful, but there you go-it's often not where you are, but who you're there with - sadly somethingthat's not always under your control...

Once again the roads were a sheer joy - I know it's something I've said morethan once before, and I shall say it again before this diary is finished, but it'strue - up and down rolling hills, into long valleys, into trees, out of trees...anyway, you get the picture.



Not long after leaving the site

My good mood was suddenly broken by the Cub giving out what can only bedescribed as a 'warning' - the engine stopped and started, the rear wheelseeming to lock up for a second before going back to normal. I slammed onthe brakes and pulled over onto a verge that had clearly been used as a layby in the past.

I won't list the string of expletives that I used- some only in my head, others

out loud, fortunately there was no one around to hear them, though Iapologise to any indigenous wildlife that may have been in the vicinity. Ireally thought that I'd killed the bike, that this was the end of my trip - allballsed up because I had decided not to put in the effort to find a little bitof flat ground to check my oil.



Stunning views, mile after mile...

I dragged all my kit off the bike so I could get to my oil (I always carry alitre with me), then topped the crankcases up- there was little smokewafting from the oil filler, but I decided to wait a while, let things cool

down, then see what happened. Whilst I was waiting, I had a look through asmall gap in the trees down onto a loch- I've had a look at the map, andjudging by how far I'd travelled that morning, I think it was Loch Fyne.There are far worse places to break down I suppose...

Ten minutes or so had passed since I stopped- I felt that I should leave it aslong as possible, but also knew that I still had a lot of miles to go. Theschedule never waited.

Sod it. I kicked the engine over, and it hummed into life, seemingly nonethe worse for wear. Whatever had happened, whether it was a minor oil orheat seize, or something else entirely, it seemed not to have permanentlyaffected my wee steed, though I spent the rest of the day expecting to hearthe grinding of metal on metal then skidding to a halt.

Aside from that single disturbing incident, there is little else to commenton, other than a succession of excellent roads. I do remember being stoppedin yet another layby when I was joined by a small group of Norwegian bikerson Harleys on the way to the Isle of Skye. One asked me if I was also goingthere, when I told him what I was actually doing, he seemed genuinelyinterested and wished me luck. They all gave me a friendly wave as they

went on their way (I stayed longer stretching my legs- it comes as nosurprise that Harleys are more comfy on the long runs...).

I passed them several times and vice versa when either of us stopped,whether it be for fuel, photos, or whatever, each time I received a cheerygreeting proving that the kindred spirit of bikers still lives on, no matterwhat you ride (it's worth noting here that sportsbike riders were nearuniversal in their not returning my nods and waves attitude- presumablythey didn't want to ruin their cred by acknowledging the loony on the stepthrough ...).



Layby with a view

Another campsite, this time a Camping and Caravan club run one inKinlochewe. I was the only person with a tent on the site- the ground Ipitched on was soft as you like for about an inch, then was all stones belowthat, and it took some serious peg battering to get the tent up. If this sitewas representative of the Club's sites in general, then good work. Very, veryclean toilet and shower block, clearly inspected on a regular basis.

Having pitched up next to nice bit of hard standing, I was taking no chancesand did all the checks on the bike that I had neglected- oil level, tyrepressures, chain tension and so on. One guy who had been walking his dogcame over as he headed back to his camper van (the van itself, incidentallywas tiny, not much bigger than a Bedford rascal or similar - as kids we usedto call them Hovis vans due to the similarity between them and the smallbrown loaves - I think this one might have been a Fiat), and asked me whereI had ridden from, where I was going, etc. He seemed genuinely impressed,particularly by the fact that I had a proper tent on my very small bike whilstall the bikers he'd seen were carry super small one man jobbies. I suspect

there was more room in my tent than there was in his camper van- perhapshe was considering the Cub as an alternative method of transport on nextyear's holiday...

He informed me that I'd be blown away by the roads across the northerncoast. This was music to my ears, as it was the part of the journey I hadalways been looking forward to, and was hoping it would live up toexpectations. He also warned me to be careful- if I fell off up there at timesI might not see another car for ages if I hurt myself. Still, at least therewasn't so much chance of getting run over if I was laying bleeding in theroad, eh?



All my bike maintenance complete, I cleaned myself up and headed into thevillage. Only one place sold food- the Kinlochewe Hotel. There was a bar(more like a village pub, I'm glad to say) and when I asked about food, theysaid there would be at least an hour's wait (lots of people eating- couldn'tthey all see I was hungry and sod off?). Never mind, there was nice little

selection of ales from the Isle of Skye brewery, so I was happy enough.

I finally had my order taken- I had a burger, sodding expensive, but a realgourmet spectacular and it went down a treat. Belly full, I spent a couple of hours at the bar drinking a few pints and chatting to the friendly owners andstaff- top stuff really.

I love this shot

I went back to the campsite and revelled in the silence. It was almostabsolute, and it was pure bliss after the previous couple of noisy evenings. Igot into my sleeping bag and was out for the count before my head had hadbarely hit my inflatable pillow.



Day 10- Monday June 11th, 2007 - 242.9 miles


I actually managed to get out of my sleeping bag feeling as though I wereraring to go. A combination of all day on the bike - my tolerance to the painhad built up no end, but it was still there - and sleeping in a tent had beenbeginning to take it's toll, but this morning I was really looking forward toboth the ride and the another two important points of my journey- DunnetHead and John O' Groats.

I was on the move nice and early, the sun had come out for me and the bikewas running sweetly (apart from it struggling up hills- I thought this was one

of those 'they all do that, sir' kind of things, and to a degree this is true,they don't have an excess of horsepower, after all- I've since discoveredmine is particularly bad, and will get around to stripping it and sorting it outsooner or later...), with no indication of the problems of the previous day.

There is less for me to write about the journey for this day's ride as I didn'tmake any notes- strange, as I arrived at my destination earlier than usualbecause of the lack of traffic. Though many of the roads were single trackwith passing places every hundred metres or so, I managed to keep up anexcellent average speed all day, even with the many stops I made to takephotos. Scottish mountains may not be as awesome as the Himalayas or theRockies, but they are certainly no less beautiful. I'll make up for my lack of writing by including more photos than usual- they can do the day morejustice than my words ever can, and I'll add a paragraph or two when or if Ithink it necessary...



One of my first stops of the morning...

The further north I got, the emptier everything became- just big openspaces, very little traffic, and an awful lot of sky.

Yes, another layby. On roads like this they are plentiful, and nearlyalways well placed.



This was evidently the drive to someone's house, I didn't see it, but itwas there somewhere. Not a bad spot to live, if you don't mind a trek to

work or the shops.

This little spot was along the northern coast itself, and looked over ontoa pristine beach (see next picture).



A nice spot, if you could find a way down to it- this vantage point washigher than this photo seems to show.

It was just before this little beach-overlooking stop that I decided it mightbe wise to get some fuel. Villages were far and few between, and I hadn'tseen a petrol station for a while. There was a tiny petrol station not muchfurther back up the road from this stop-complete with sign saying 'No petroluntil midday'. As it happened, I think I got as far as Thurso before I refueled.

I like this picture a lot. I passed an awful lot of places on my travels.



Sometimes it was easy to believe that I was the last person left on earth-everyone else gone. I stopped here for almost fifteen minutes, and

neither heard nor saw a single sign of human activity- amazing.

A rare self portrait, courtesy of a handily-positioned bin and the self timer.



Dunnet head.

An important part of the journey- the most northerly point of mainland

Britain. Much like the way the Lizard rests in the shadow of Land's End downin the south, so Dunnet Head does next to John O'Groats. Still, at leastthere's a stone marker and a lighthouse for photo opportunities!



John O'Groats.

Ah, the other famous sign, now I had them both. John O'Groats is a much

less developed affair than Land's End. Shortly after I had my photo takenhere, I wheeled the bike over to a little chip van and had some well-deserved grub. I had been fortunate enough to arrive when I did as he wasabout to close- he ran the local pub there and was due to open shortly.

It's also worth noting that as I wheeled the bike the few yards from the signto the chip van, my sat nav mount broke, the aluminium casting simplysnapping in two. Another piece of good fortune- if this had happened as Iwas riding, the sat nav could easily have smashed to pulp on the road. Ivowed to fix it at the campsite, only a few hundred yards away. I was a lotearlier on arrival at my evening's destination, and so had a little more time

than usual to get things done.

The campsite was great- right by the sea, as you might expect. After gettingmy tent up and getting a shower, I found a nice solid bit of ground to do mybike maintenance on. Whilst I was doing that I had a brief look at myexhaust- it had been blowing slightly from somewhere in the region of themanifold for days, occasionally getting louder or quieter as I hit a bump inthe road. I checked the nuts holding it on, they seemed tight enough, andnot wanting to give them a bit of welly as it were in case I did somethingsilly like strip the threads, I decided to leave it be. I was secure enough, andwasn't stupidly loud. (I'll not here that when I got home I took it off to havea look at it- there was a ring of perforations that had rusted around the



flange where it joined the engine. Eventually it would have gonecompletely, but tightening the nuts was one thing that most definitelywouldn't have helped...)

I fixed the sat nav mount with some 'creative' use of cable ties and duct

tape. Attached to the mirror and handlebars in the way it was, it was aboutten times stronger than the original mount, if somewhat less adjustable, notto mention its look being a matter of personal taste. As the saying goes,'There's no such thing as a bodge, only a repair using the tools and materialsavailable'. Here's a picture of it, in all its glory:

Admit it, you're impressed, aren't you?

The John O'Groats inn and Hotel



I spent my evening in the Groats Inn. Beer and pizza. I was surprised to findthat I was the only customer in there- I was told that sometimes it was likethat, another night you might find a load of 'End to end' cyclists wouldappear and the place would fill up a bit, or that a few people might wanderover from the campsite.

By the time I left the pub the rest of the area was deserted, a total ghosttown. The mist had really closed in, so I took a quick shot of the pub andhotel whilst I had the chance. Sadly the hotel is closed at the moment, Ieven heard rumours that it might be demolished. Hopefully someone willpull their finger out and return to its former glory, as it could be a real drawto tourists with it's strange octagonal tower, a design based on Jan DeGroot's house, reputed to be of a similar shape. At the time of writing this(January 2009) Wikipedia says it's no longer a public bar- hopefully thisdoesn't mean the inn part- I'd be interested to know, if anyone has anyinformation.

Back at the campsite, my view over to the isle of Stroma had now goneentirely, and I crawled into my tent for a good night's kip.



Day 11- Tuesday June 12th, 2007 - 265.6 miles


The morning started quite murky and misty - there was enough moisturearound to create a fine mist that would have got me well and truly soakedover a period of time if i hadn't put my waterproof overtrousers on. As itwas, I had keep clearing my visor - the temperature had dropped overnighttoo, and I had to keep it open a crack or it would keep misting up.

I had ridden only a few miles when the cold started to creep up on me. I wassurprised by this- it was June after all - and I wasn't especially prepared forit. My jacket and rugby shirt only did half a job and I soon found myself

shivering. Here's a picture of me from fairly early on the day's ride- thestrange expression isn't because it's that cold, but because I was trying tocreate a nice cloud of breath for the photo - it didn't work as you can see- Ijust ended up looking like I need to go to the toilet:

When I reached the town of Wick, my cunningly planned route was throwninto disarray by a diversion caused by some fairly major roadworks. (Atleast, I hope they were major- otherwise why bother with all the hassle of adiversion...?)

I followed the diversion signs, safe in the knowledge that any diversionwould get me back to my original route plan, if it didn't then it would justbe a turning to somewhere else rather than a diversion, surely? The map onmy sat nav was zoomed out enough so that for a while I could see that my

original route wasn't too far away. Then two things happened- the originalroute dropped off the screen, then suddenly the diversion signs dried up



entirely. Ah, the favourite game of diversion planners everywhere - 'Guessthe route' .

Fortunately I had been keeping an eye on the sat nav screen and knewroughly where my original road was, so I just bit the bullet and headed

down the roads which seemed to be heading in that general direction. Muchto my surprise I not only managed to get my original route back onto thescreen so I could see where it was again, but also managed to take thenecessary roads required to get back to it. A relief, it has to be said.

I have to admit that this particular day's ride was another case of going flatout until I could stand it no longer, stopping long enough to take a couple of photos, then get moving again as soon as I could. Whilst planning the trip,however many times I tried to rework it, I could never get this day's ride toend anywhere near a decent campsite, so I opted to find alternativelodgings instead. This came in the shape of Lilian Cottage in Aberdeen, abike friendly guesthouse with secure parking. The call of a proper bed wastoo strong to resist, and it was that drawing me ever onwards...

The mist decided to stop pretending and declared itself to be rain. It wasn'thard enough to actually get me wet though my gear, but it was enough tomake the roads a little more slippery and to bring my mood down a little.

I believe this was taken not long after it started to rain- I needed to stop,so chose a spot in this layby where I could be dry under a tree.



The SAME damp layby. It looks as though it had hardly been raining, butyou'll just have to take my word for it when I say it had.

There is a definite correlation between my general mood and the number of photos I took. Today they were few and far between. Perhaps it was justthat I was cold and grumpy, perhaps it was the fact that everytime I got thecamera out I had to keep it as dry as I could and it became a pain (or at thevery least it became a pain to a cantankerous old git like myself!).

Early afternoon and I got hungry. I grabbed a burger or similar on an almostdaily basis from roadside wagons. Oft times i would end up missing theturning to a place because there was no signpost telling me it was there andI had often passed them before I could slow down. My mentality to keepmoving on was such that when this happened I didn't turn round- miss it andyou keep on going until the next one. Today I was fortunate enough to find aplace just as the rain came on a bit heavier, and I kept out of the rain underthe van's awning whilst I shovelled down a bap full of tasty fried animal bits(can't remember what it was, but it certainly involved at least eggs andbacon, possibly sausage and mushroom too- probably bad for the heart, but

bloody good for the soul!), and a cup of coffee. Lovely.

My days could have been so much better if there was still the network of transport cafes like there used to be years ago- a swift stop to eat in themwould have helped no end. The one or two cafes I did manage to find alongthe way did do just that. I know that the age of the transport cafe seems allbut dead, but I for one miss them. Better than the overpriced shite you tendto get at the Motorway services.

My final stop of the day was near Peterhead, and I took this lovely picture of the power station whilst I stretched my legs. Okay, perhaps not lovely, but I

find power stations interesting, anyway. As I didn't take many pictures,you'll have to be satisfied with what I give you, I'm afraid...



I got into Aberdeen at around the same time that traffic started to build upfor the rush hour, just what I needed when I was in an unfamiliar city tryingto find a particular address. It was fortunate that the guesthouse wassituated on a main road into the city centre- all I had to do was keep goingand I'd find it. And find it I did. However, there was no off road parking outthe front, and I was loathe to leave the fully loaded bike in the street whilstI went to the door. What to do?

I had passed a petrol station a few hundred metres earlier, and I was getting

low on fuel, so I did a quick u-turn and pulled into that- better to fill up nowrather than waste time in the morning, I figured. The tank and petrol canfilled, I pushed the bike out of the way of the pumps and parked up. I hadbrought a list of all the places I intended to stop- to be used in anemergency alongside my A5 road atlas if the twatnav went tits up, and in arare piece of foresight I had been wise enough to include the phonenumbers.

I rang the guesthouse and asked them where the bike parking was. Afterascertaining that I was only a couple of minutes away, I was given directions

down some back streets to the rear entrance. I found this easily, and thedoors were closed behind me as I rode the bike in. For once I could leavemost of the gear on the bike and take only what I needed, safe in theknowledge that the gear was secure. To not have to unload the bike was arare treat.

A double bed. TV. Ensuite shower. Bliss.

After I had cleaned myself up and watched a little bit of telly I decided togo and find some food. A few enquiries to the proprietor later and I wasassured the city centre was only twenty or so minutes walk away, so I set

off out into the rain into town and found a Wetherspoons pub. (It's worthnoting that when I saw the smoker's outside here it seemed really strange-



this was pre-smoking ban in England - now with a similar set up here, itdoesn't seem odd at all).

Happily (from my point of view anyway-not sure if cows would agree),Tuesday night in the pub was steak night- a steak, chips and trimmings and

a pint of beer for a fiver, not half bad at all, especially as the beer I chosewas a pint of Abbot Ale. Being as easily pleased as I am, this feed andanother few pints of ale set me up nicely, and I half walked, half wobbledback to the guesthouse where I fell into my nice warm, comfy bed...



Day 12- Wednesday June 13th, 2007 - 200 miles


If things are a little vague in this portion of the trip diary, once again I'llhave to apologise, as I have no notes, only memory and my photographicrecord. If anything is in a silly order, I apologise wholeheartedly. Next time Ido something like this I'll be more thorough in my note-taking... I'll make upfor it by putting up a few extra pictures.

If I were to say that I didn't want to get up the next morning, I'd beunderstating the fact. I really didn't want to get up. I had had a great night's

sleep, but when my watch alarm started bleeping I could have happilyturned it off, rolled over and gone back to sleep, but as ever, getting up andgetting moving was the key. At least I had a breakfast on the cards, and theknowledge that my brother would be coming up to meet me at the evening'sstop gave me some motivation to clamber out of my warm and comfortablebed.

One full Scottish breakfast later and I was ready to go. I had a conversationwith a businessman (also staying in the guesthouse) whilst I was eating andafter explaining to him what I was doing he gave me a donation- once againI am grateful for the kindness of strangers...

Having managed to get on the move, I had the consolation that at least theweather was better. It had stopped raining overnight, and the sun wastrying to come through a thin cover of clouds.

Once again I was on the roads of Aberdeen, just as the traffic started tobuild for the morning rush hour- I had left a little later as there was no way Iwas going to forgo my cooked breakfast. Following a sat nav in heavy trafficis not much fun- I just listened to the little voice in my ear as she told mewhere to go and fortunately missed none of my turnings as I avoided dozyearly morning commuters doing their best to knock me off the bike.



I wish I knew where this was-all I can say for sure is that it's somewheresouth of Aberdeen, and north of Edinburgh. As it was one of the first

pictures I took on this day, I'm guessing it was also well north of Dundee.

Things got a little murkier as I crossed the Tay bridge at Dundee, butfortune smiled on me once more as the day wore on and things got a littlebrighter, if not exactly bathing me in blistering sunshine.

I was rather pleased to be going over the Forth Bridge. I'd seen pictures of the rail bridge, but had never seen it with my own eyes. I'm sure that if yousee it on a day-to-day basis you just take it for granted, but as a first timer,it's simply stunning as far as I'm concerned. I only got one shot of it I'mafraid. I had stopped in yet another layby to give my brother a ring on his



mobile and ask him how his journey up the A1 was going, and spotted it inthe distance:

Firth of Forth, with the Forth rail bridge visible in the distance. It'sthere, honest!

As I crossed the road bridge, the rail bridge looked even better in close up- Iwas impressed, anyway.

Edinburgh. The road surfaces here were ...interesting, to say the least.Considering that Edinburgh is the Scottish capital, and the number of tourists that must visit, you'd have thought that someone would haverealised that having roads not dissimilar to the surface of the moon was abad idea.

I don't doubt that in a car or on a larger bike that many of the potholes,raised ironworks (and sunken ironworks!) and poor repairs on the roads of the city may be largely unnoticeable, but on the Cub, when my wheelsfound any of these, it jarred my spine, and at times hit so hard that I was

sure I must have bent my rims or snapped a spoke or two. They really areatrocious. Whoever's in charge - pull your bloody finger out and dosomething about it!

After managing to escape Edinburgh without dropping into any of thechasms in the road, it was back onto better roads, and then the A1 for thefinal part of the day's journey.



I'm pretty sure both of these shots were taken along the A1, the secondnot too far from the Scottish/English border.

The A1 is surprisingly pleasant when you get far up north, and at times it'shard to believe it's not a minor A-road as is it's so quiet.

However beautiful Scotland had been, and regardless of the fact that I wasstill in Britain, when I finally reached the marker for the border I still gotthat pleasant- 'Home at last' feeling, just like when you fly in fromsomewhere far away. Silly, but I felt it nonetheless and it's worthmentioning here.

despite having missed markers for Scotland wales, the England one was easyto spot, and conveniently situated in a layby. Even more convenient was the



grub wagon parked up in the same layby. After taking a couple of pictures Iordered yet another bread-wrapped fried minced animal treat, and damnfine it tasted too! I also made another phone call to my brother, who bynow had found the campsite and was waiting for me- he had covered farmore miles than me, in a lot less time, though he had covered them in a car

of course.

Back to Blighty!

Spurred on by the knowledge that I was nearly at my destination, I pressedon, and shortly afterwards arrived at my campsite (though I began towonder if I was heading in the right direction after weaving down the tightlanes to get to it...) to be greeted by my brother. With Holy island barelyvisible off the coast, I set to work getting both of the tents up (my brother

was using my spare, and had no idea how to go about putting it up), then wewent for a bit of a wander, as after an earlier expedition whilst whilingaway the time waiting for me, he told me he had found an interesting sign.On seeing it, I agreed, and we couldn't resist this silly little photo:



We tried so hard to find a piece of dangerous looking metal- it wouldhave set this picture off nicely. In the end I opted for the cheesy grin and

a thumbs up approval of the situation!

We watched one bloke from the campsite go walking out onto the soft sandsthat had been revealed by the tide- we speculated on what he was doing fora bit, and wondered if he was about to do a 'Reggie Perrin', and when hehad all but disappeared from sight*, we wandered back to the campsite andthought we'd best get weaving if we were going to find ourselves some food

and beer.

Jumping in my brother's car, we decided to head for the pub that was onthe A1 opposite the road to the campsite. We asked if they were still servingfood, and the landlord said they were just about to close the kitchen, but if we ordered quickly it would be fine. Cumberland sausage, mash, veg andgravy. Top stuff, but no real ale, so I had to go with the fizzy stuff.

As we got back to the campsite, a few spots of rain started to come. Wasthis an ominous portent for tomorrow?

* We did see him return a fair while later, who knows where he had been. Perhaps he'dbeen for a swim - who can tell? It shall remain a mystery that only he can solve...



Day 13- Thursday June 14th, 2007 - 367.1 miles!


Whilst there have been days in this diary with little in the way of photographs, this day will outdo them all on that particular front. I onlytook two photos on this day (aside from the shots of the odometer) forreasons which will become clearer as this day unfolds.

Here was our plan: My brother Paul was going to follow me for the final twodays of the ride, acting as a chase vehicle, taking most of my luggage forme, and camping with me for two nights to give me some well-neededsupport and company. The last day, from Skegness to home was a much

shorter ride than the rest, so I should be able to get home in the early partof the Friday afternoon. A simple plan, but it didn't quite work out thatway, as we shall see...

The rain of the early evening had turned to a few heavy showers overnight(they had started just after we got into our tents, and had been on and off during the night, waking me up a couple of times), but the morning seemeddry, if a little cloudy and dull. The weather report on Paul's radio hadinformed us that there was more rain on the way, but we weren't tooconcerned, as the day seemed quite nice. Paul had brought my lined textilebike trousers and a fleece with him on my request, as I'd gotten a bit tickedoff with cold of the previous couple of days- if it warmed up I could alwaysput the extra clobber in the car.

The tents down and the majority of my luggage in the car, I fitted myairseat (it would have saved me so much pain if I’d have had it at thebeginning, but with all the luggage on I couldn't fit it...) and we gotunderway, the bike seeming a lot more pleasant to ride with no extraweight on it (my own not withstanding). We made good progress, andthough the day was cool, there was no sign of the promised rain by the timewe stopped here:



Note both lack of luggage and lack of rain. Also note comfortable Airhawkseat!

My only other photo of the day, taken in exactly the same spot!

At some point shortly after these two photographs were taken and whilststill well North of Newcastle, it started to rain, at first it was little morethan drizzle but it swiftly became a downpour. Once it started it didn't stopfor a long, long time.

By the time we reached the Tyne tunnel, damp was already starting tocreep in here and there through my gear. As Paul was behind me I stayed inthe queues of traffic and didn't filter through it. What fun it was sittingabout in the pouring rain with water dribbling down my back!



During one of the countless stops, I decided to give my phone, camera andwallet to Paul to look after to keep them dry- hence no photos - it just gotkinda forgotten as the day dragged on.

By the time we reached Stockton on Tees i was well on the way to a

thorough soaking, and I stopped to fill the bike's tank up from my petrolcan. I was freezing cold (and starting to shiver- I've never been that cold inJune!), and as I took my sopping wet gloves off, the liners pulled inside out.Paul had some sandwiches (big brothers think of everything!) and he alsohad a litre bottle of 'Kick' (like Red Bull, only made for Tesco and about 80%cheaper!), so I had a few swigs of that and a thought I had beencontemplating for the last few miles finally became a solid suggestion.

I was wet, cold and not a little pissed off. I knew that I wasn't going to dryoff during the day's riding even if it stopped raining, and there was even lesschance that my gear was going to dry out much overnight at the campsite,and I really wasn't keen on the idea of having to pull on the cold, clammygear in the morning.

'I've been thinking of something, bruv,' I said, chewing my sandwich.

'What's that mate?'

'I reckon I just might say balls to stopping in Skegness tonight and just tryfor home.' I went on to explain my thoughts about not being able to dry outand climbing into wet clothes in the morning.

'Tomorrow's only a short day anyway,' I said. 'Less than half the miles of theothers. I think it's worth a go, I don't give a toss what time we get back,even if it's one o'clock in the morning.'

I could visualise my own bed, and I could see Paul could see his too- onenight in a tent had been enough to convince him he wasn't keen on camping.He agreed with me. We'd go for it.

It took me some time to get the wet liners back inside the even wettergloves, but the marathon run for home was on. Each time I stopped for fuel

of for food and drink, the damn gloves become more of a handful- after awhile they were really pissing me off, but if my hands were cold with themon, they would have been even colder with them off.

Much of this final day's ride is even more of a blur than usual, what with thesoaking I got and the freezing cold, but with Paul's support I managed tokeep going. There were two or three times I could have stopped and pitcheda tent at the first site I could find I was so fed up, but Paul kept onencouraging me (he admitted he felt so guilty about being in his nice warmand dry car whilst I was in front of him wet and cold, but I couldn't hold thatagainst him- this was all of my own volition!). In amongst this blur, oneparticular moment stands out: the Humber Bridge.



Paul had never been across a big suspension bridge before, and was wellimpressed; when we stopped shortly afterwards he was was all enthusiasticabout it:

'That was brilliant, wasn't it?' he said to me.

'Not for me it wasn't,' I replied. 'Did you not see the 'High cross winds'warning? It was f***ing terrifying for me.' It was, it really was- I hadstruggled to keep the bike upright when the wind gusted hard....

The stops became more frequent as the mile count grew larger. Whitby,Grimsby and Mablethorpe all came and went, then we were past Boston andat the edge of the wash and heading for my 'official’ finishing post - theroundabout near King's Lynn were I had first 'hit the coast road' as it were,nearly a fortnight before.

There was no ceremony as I reached the roundabout, and no real sense of elation that I had finished the circumnavigation of the mainland. My onlyacknowledgement to the fact was a Carl Fogarty style hand in the air airvictory salute, index finger pointing to the skies. Paul, realising what I wasdoing, beeped his horn a few times and flashed his lights a few times. Thatwas it.

There were plenty more stops on the run back across the fens, and by thetime we reached home just before ten PM, the light had almost gone. Therain had almost stopped, but it was cloudy and dull. Paul went and

collected my garage keys whilst I sat outside my garage and waited for him.On his return I pushed the bike into the garage, remembered to get mycamera back from him and took a picture of the odometer before lockingthe bike, then closing and locking the garage door.

We had been on the road for around fourteen hours, and had covered justover 367 miles.

The final mileage photograph!

We dragged all of my kit from the car into the house, untidying the livingroom by dumping it all over the floor.

It was strange to be home, but wonderful to get out of my wet clothes andinto some dry stuff. I celebrated with a cup of tea and a Pot Noodle...

Mission:Implausible was over. Unpacking would have to wait until tomorrow.



Afterword

Shortly after I got home on that last day, I swore that I'd never do anything

like it again, but only a few days later I was already wondering what to formy next challenge.

Once I had dried out and had time to fully appreciate what I'd achieved, andonce people had congratulated me on finishing my implausible mission, it allbegan to sink in a bit, and I started to feel a lot better about what I haddone. I look at the coast of Britain on a map now, and think 'Did I really dothat?'.

I managed to raise over £4500 for CRY by doing the trip, and hopefully madea memorable tribute to my friend Budgie- I'd like to think that he'd havebeen looking down and smiling!

Big thanks go out to everyone who helped in way- large or small, fromindividual and corporate sponsors, those who helped me fund my expenseson the way round, all the guys at www.cub90.co.uk for advice andassistance (and especially to Fuzz for the replacement shocks), andeveryone who gave me encouragement, whether they be friends and family,or people I met along the way. Hopefully that little list covers just abouteveryone, if I've missed anyone, I apologise - it isn't deliberate - consideryourself thoroughly thanked regardless!

A special thanks to my big bruv for getting me through that last day.

I'm getting itchy feet now, and am already plotting a sequel toMission:Implausible, hopefully for some time in 2010. Watch this space...

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Mission Implausible Diary