Wedding Day

We left JOG after dropping the machine off at the Sea View Hotel - it looks over the sea. Lorraine is chauffeur of  our wedding white hired Astra and she swiftly  conveys us to the Gill Bay ferry port where we embark. As we cross we learn Island information and I am intrigued by the concept of Ferell Cattle. Ironically two hours have past since finish and we experience the first spot of rain since Dartmoor. Again silently reflecting on the last 10 days I can't help thinking how very lucky we have been. 

The Captain is in boyant mood and a sense of excitement is clear at the thought of marrying the Lovely Lorraine. However I am aware that it's not in not in the psyche of the Veteran Coldstream Gaurdaman to admit to such emotion. We have a 3 island hop to Orkney over causeways and arrive at the Shores Hotel which will be our home for the next three days. It's a real place with a public locals bar attahed and is certainly a winner with the Stoker. We meet Baz and Sophie, Sophie is a lifelong freind and will be Lorraine's number 1 today. ( we avoid all that matron of honour stuff as its been embargoed by the bride) Then The Coombe's best kept secret arrives to be a part of its worst kept secret - Spike and Ev Charles sat at the bar. From a distance the Captain declares ' He looks like Spike' and indeed he did - cause he was.( a big effort Spike and Ev and great to see you both) So six becomes eight and as we all tuck into a few bevs and fish cakes. The men discuss how their kilts fit -  as men do. The Ladies discuss stuff that ladies discuss. I don't know what this was because I wasn't listening. After an action packed day we all retire early to catch up on sleep and other stuff. The local malt - large one for I ensures uninterrupted sleep in a silent Kirkwall. 

This morning we meet mein host Michael  - he furnishes us with endless Orkney knowledge. His breakfast is mainly superb and just what a Stoker needs to revive a much older than was body - haggis, then haggis followed by haggis. In to town where we bump into Gretton and Ford locals Lotty Mullvein and Julie Alvis (As you do) Chuckling in mind I consider the naivety of the idiots who travel off miles away for weekends of infidelity and think they will get away with it. 

We wander round this town that seems to just trickle on at its own pace and organise a few finalities including beard trims and haircuts and the inclusion of a suprise piper for after the Wedding. 

As we return to the hotel It is a poiniant moment as  we stand in silence for a 100th memorial Somme service outside the Cathederal. It's accompanied by the chilling sound of the piper, I feel both humbled and moved for this lasting tribute to our fallen. Only yesterday we cycle over the top passing a War Memorial. The captain highlights the horror of being drafted from a crofters 

cottage to the trenches in the wink of an eye 'Poor Bastards' he mutters,  my silence was agreement of a  statement that said it all. 

 As I blog up the day thus far I am pleased to see my wife ironing my shirt ( in fact all the men's shirts) for the formalities in waiting. A few hours chiling out and the union will be underway. Sarah appears to be excited at the prospect of seeing four men in skirts.However I am aware of an underlying paranoia that I may enjoy it. 

Putting the kilt on to a DIY video could have gone utube viral if published - I now understand why the feminine form takes so long to get out the house when off for a Jolly. We get a shot of the Captain dropping the wallet into the sporon aware that's the last we see of it.

After the compulsory drink we walk to the Town Hall in full regalia. Concerned  not to create a spectacle we of course go unnoticed in the native attire. The ceremony is simple, as was the request of the captain and his bride had ordered. 'Don't worry' he chortled earlier over a coffee ' you'll be stood up before your sat down' - and so it was to be. 

Indeed we were and although a simplified set of vows they were never the less conducted in a serious and respectful tone. We have a bottle of fizz out on the street outside the Town Hall and the newly married couple are serenaded by the piper. A Wedding meal in the hotel tonight will complete a fantastic day. 

We have a few extra days to take in some more Orkney culture and then the big bird home Saturday. 

A happy journey with a more than happy end. We wish the Newly Wedds a long and happy life together. Here Endeth the Blog. Over and Out 

The Stoker - XXXXX

Bettyhill to John O Groats

In Bettyhill we have rooms in the end of house. (In fact it's outside Bettyhill and called Far which is aptly named.  Waking at 5.30 I hear some strange dinosaur like sounds.  The captain claims to be a non snorer but as I lay in bed I take a different view. Perhaps he's a virgin snorer methinks whist chuckling inwardly at my conclusion. 

The next noticeable thing after hearing the first time snorer was the optical display out of the window. The sky up here is stunning. Without any other light polluting the view plus a cleaner air the sky is buzzing with activity. It's alive and the twinkling stars carry on undeterred right into the horizon of the North Atlantic Ocean. This alone was worth coming to see and I am happy to lay awake and soak it all up. The background music from the Captains bedroom subsides and all that is audible is a calming breeze as it scurrys through the gap of a partially open window. 

We are up and eating the English breakfast at 8am - there is no rush as the  girls don't arrive in JOG until afternoon. Asking whether it is a Scottish or English breakfast we are Informed by the lovely Lesley that's 'it's English - a Scottish breakfast is a cup of coffee and a fag'

Rugged up and packed up we tread off in unison for what is our last leg of a journey that has flashed by even though so many thoughts, laughs, miles meetings have been exprienced on route. Message to self - 'enjoy every last mile'and as the sun once again blesses us with her presence I know I will. On day one the Captain declared 'the Gods are with us' in our wildest dreams we never imagined it would be for the duration. 

We have headwind but we don't care it's a lumpy road and we knock out 2000 climbing ft over 18 miles. Stopping to book the ferry for Orkney in the layby the captain has a final attempt to trick me into standing in his urine trail but once again I box clever 'that was your last chance cock' Heading across we have a wave from the Highland Mobile Library. We bumped into each other 50 miles back in Antnahara and  frog hopped each other to Bettyhill becoming very familiar with each other yesterday.

We push on to Thurso where we stop to fuel up for the last time.    Trying to ring my wife for a progress report I am unsurprised to find her phone is off ( It's always either left at home. In the handbag and can't be heard, on silent without her knowledge, not charged, ran out of charge and void of charger or lost) We have at this point no idea where they are? We have more success with 'The Bride to be' as her phone rings but she doesn't answer it. 

Onward to the end and with 19 miles left we watch the mile counters shrinking in size realising we are in terms of the whole journey home and dry. The dry element is unbelievable - to cycle from South to North and no wettings is surley a rare occourance. The wet weather kit is still in the bag. Finally making contact with the Ladies we roll into John O Groats to be greeted with a cheer a kiss and the obligatory photos. Now enjoying some Haggis and nips in the Seaview Hotel after dumping bike for transit. Job done and box ticked . We now move in to the final part of the adventure as we catch the 6.30 ferry this afternoon to Orkney. 

In theory the blog should finish now but it can't - the ride was also about the worst kept secret in The Combe so it must continue. That's not cheesy it just a fact it's part of it. On that basis check in tomorrow 

The tandem End to Enders xxx

Evanton beyond the beyond to Bettyhill

Last nights digs were a great find. Although off the A9 it is far enough away enjoy silence. We arrived initially to find out the bar was being refurbished. No problem though as the proprietor owns the village pub. Dumping our kit in the room we head off for a pint. When we arrive it is in Sunday afternoon full swing. Juke  box blaring and pool table clanking. Following some thoughtful observation the captain declares 'Proper pub this - just like the Sun used to be' if only they knew the heights they had being elevated at the stroke of a sentence they would be surely flattered. More chuckling as we observe the cllentele  and draw comparisons to WInchcombe locals. An old boy is stood at the bar, he has a beard and complete with braces, he's drinking what looked like whisky and he is chatting up to young locals. Old enough to be thier Grandfather and he gets closer to them the Captain shrieks 'There's Shakey' We giggle uncontrollably at the vision.  It must've been a good establishment as I head off for a shower leaving the captain for another pint on his own. This must be a first in our cycling history.

The captain had four hits on the throne this morning before we leave 'what's the problem' I enquire. ' I must be nervous about the wedding' I inwardly dismiss this as nonsense knowing full well last nights beef burger was mainly abattior sweepings.

Again we are blessed with blue skies and as we leave Evanton we witness a sharp frost. It's chilly but it's a good climb and we soon get up to temperature. The Autumn is more advanced up here and the silver birch are nearly cleared of foliage. An array of colours surround us as Autumn takes grip. We are flanked by over hanging oaks and dappled sunlight paints shadows on the road as we ride. It's one of those days when  the wish is for every mile to be longer than a mile. We are not mile counting -  it's to cherish.

We climb to 800 ft and then drop into Bonar Bridge. The captain suggests a stop before as we pass a cafe. I say push on.  When we get to the the town everything is closed and we have to cycle on to Lairg another 12 miles onward. That's not a problem but of course I have to suffer all that 'I was right again and you should have listened to me' stuff. The captain is a master of blowing his own trumpet and I have found that it's just best to agree in an attempt to silence him. 

Arrival at Lairg again draws a blank and we end up getting hot choc out of a machine in the spar shop where we meet the lovely Alison who insists on a kiss from the soon newly married to be. 

Then onto beyond the beyond - a single track road that rises to 900 ft is surrounded by forest, a spiders web of peaty ditches which feed large babbling streams. Heather is abundant and it pleasantly masks the devistation of deforestation. 

The captain in usual style tries to catch me out on the stand in his piss trick but it's not working. I mount from the other side of the bike again unscathed. The attached picture is demonstrative of what I have to put up with. 

It's a great downhill to Antnahara (still holding the record for coldest place in Britain) We blow through the village and stop for a romantic lunch by the loch on the run in to Bettyhill. There is no rush and we have a cat knap in warm Autumn sunshine with the waters of the loch below  averting that sound of silence.

On to Bettyhill and the road is peppered with sheep and for a period I am more a shepherd than a cyclist.

Tonight we are staying with Lesley. The property has fantastic views. This lovely lady calls the shop to stay open and returns with beer. We eat here tonight. This was the only booking we made in advance and so pleased as nothing is open and we haven't seen accomodation for the last 50 miles. 

As I pointed out on the last end to end - the imperial measurment for distance In the Highlands is minutes. 'How far to Lairg? ' I ask. '14 minutes' (that's 14 not 15 or 13) ' How far to Antnahara ?'- that's 50 minutes. It's apparantly based on travelling time in a car. When I suggest that this would vary dependant on both the car and the driver of the car all I achieved was confusion. 

We are now 49 miles from end of and its again mixed feelings of sadness and joy. 79 miles today and 4300 ft climbing. 

Over and Out the Sheep Drovers X 

Fort William to Evanton via Glen Coe

Down for 730 this morning and unhappy with the room - over breakfast we discussed my angle for a refund which was duly agreed after some diplomatic negotiation. (Honest talk such as all you people who work here are fantastic and made us feel super welcome but could you pass this on to the hidden faces of senior management etc etc) The hotel had illusions of grandeur that were unaparent.

 We reminisced over recent cycling years. On the same date last year we were in Gaurda on route to  Lisbon, in  2014 residing for the evening in Pau and just about to take on the Tourmalet and 2013 around 300 miles from Rome leaving Sarzena. We have certainly chugged a few miles together we agree.

We leave Fort William to blue skies and agree it's worth pinching ourselves to  make sure the only time it rained was in Callington last Saturday. We were lucky enough to have shelter albeit it at the expence of being accosted by another nutter. The wet weather gear is still untouched and lays neglected in the bottom of the kit bag. As we climb out of Fort Willliam - Glen Coe and its visitors are still sleeping. It's quiet and the only noise we can here is the hum of our tyres as they tread the road surface. There is a chill in the air and as the sun begins to peep at us above the mighty Ben Nevis, it generates a rising mist from last nights ground frost. Leaves fall from the roadside trees spinning vertically and evidencing the void of air movement. It is surely another perfect day to loch hop on the tandem. For a  few seconds the peace is shattered by a boy racer as he charges up the Glen with four exhausts hanging out the back of his motor - neither of us speak but the atuned grunts are a measure of disapproval.

'The other thing Lorraine would love about living here is she would never have to buy a Christmas tree eh?' We both chuckle. 

Clearly feeling happy in himself and looking forward to his union he chortles as we climb ' Have you enjoyed being a passenger on this trip' I stop peddling and there is an acceptable degree of retraction.

We push on to Spean Bridge for some Photos and then more loch hopping to the Loch Ness. It's an enormous expanse of water and we stop at Fort Augustus for a fuel and probably the best  portion of chocolate cake we have ever experienced buzzing like bees. 

We leave the loch and cross to Beauly on a 17 per cent climb to around 900 ft and down to the flat land again. 

We observe three flags outside a out of town hotel- it is a Union flag flanked by the flag of David and Andrew and void of George. We both agree there is sadly an underlying message?

As we blow through  Dingwall the Moray Firth comes into view - we have now rubbed shoulders with all the coasts of our Island  - Penzance in the South, Ayr on the West, Moray Forth on the East and tommorrow off to Betty Hill for the North Atlantic Coast.

The journey is again coming towards its climax but there is a different feeling to the end 2 end adventure. It's a sort of conquering your own country feeling that Is difficult to put into rhetoric - whatever it feels good! 

84 today and 4000 plus climbing. Clock in tommorrow assuming internet acces in the sticks 

The Loch Hoppers xx

Lochgair and onward Fort William

We were thrilled with last night's digs. The captain tucks into a plate size Yorkshire pudding filled up with beef casserole. He still insists on extra bread and butter from mine host. Mine host explains it will be enough without the bread and butter. The captain explains it won't be and in true form he demolishes the lot. The residence is in the middle of nowhere and the description quirky would be a trivailisation. The  proprietor reminds us very much of Basil Fawlty. He took a shine to us and was the perfect host but we were aware that it wouldn't be ideal to have been on the wrong end of the potential wrath.  It's noticeable how sparce the traffic is and lying in bed the sound of silence is invaded very occasionally by a passing vehicle. It offers a feeling of achievement as we head from the hustle and bustle of the South.

Up and away at 8am we head along the loch to Inverray - we have a slight headwind but cope with it as we have been blessed for the last week. 

Our bladders have  synced during the week and at the first point of relief as usual I dismount to the hedge for privicy. The captain prefers to dangle  his weapon out and relieve himself on the kerb. Always with a chuckle he pulls the bike forward in the hope that I stand in his urine before getting back on. Aware of his mischief once again I mount from the other side I proceed again unscathed. 

Think we have got the nutrition right this week and our many weeks as a touring team have taught us what suits best. Inverray and into the Co Op for some running fuel for a roadside lunch. We park up on a bench next to the Costalot Coffee machine with our sustenance in bag like a couple of vagrants - we could sit in the warmth all day and another 75 miles at this point in the day feels daunting.

We make the effort and away! As we turn for an Alpine type climb through a pass to the A85 followed by a fabulous downhill the wind is once again offering its loving hand.

' It's was The Hen night last night' the captain informs me. 'Glad Im cycling - Corner Cupboard would have been echoing the sound of squealing hyenas' I agree that his synopsis would be more that accurate. 

We push on to Connell Bridge where we stop on a bench for the fill. We have no hand wipes and on that basis Pringles are a must for the nibbles - as always diving our hands into the same crisp packet is a no goer with  frequent manhood handling roadside piss stops.

Again that feeling of well being is in abundance. 'Loch hopping' as I name it on a pushbike is a life memory. We are surrounded by an unspoilt vista. Its Saturday and the A82 and the A85 are like country lanes. 

The tandem as always offers happiness to the onlooker We ride along encouraged by peeping horns and flashing lights all offering approval of our venture despite the flag of St George flying both proud and brazen. 

The loch hopping continues and as we approach the outer limits of Fort William The captain informs me that he had visited Fort William a few times before. 'I brought Lorraine here, I look after her Spall'  -  'I know you do' I reply.  - 'She doesn't know where her breads buttered? ' he returns. I agree with him offering the assurance that he is looking for even though saddle soreness is really my priority thinking.

It occurs to me that he is maybe giving his imenent union more thought than he would care to admit. We have kilts for the ceremony and because we had to pay extra for the awkward time scale the captain suggests we should wear them home on the plane in order to get the value. I have become more than use to the captains appetite to forage for value. 

We are now settled in tonight's refuge - it's playing Garry Glitter songs and the clientele splattered around the bar tap their feet in approval of the musical choice. I am confused - but you get what you pay for I guess? 

88 miles today and 4400 ft of climbing on the day - my sat nav reads less on elevation but I am told that as I am Stoker on the back when we climb a hill I am always lower????. Tommorrow will take us onward to north of Inverness somewhere near Dingle (TBC) where we will be one leg from Bettyhill, a town neglected by the rest of Scotland and battered by the North Sea. 

Update tomorrow - The Gary Glitter fan club XX