Day 13

Bitter sweet today. On the one hand it will be good to finish the ride, forget the morning ritual of pulling on Lycra and hitting the road, rain or shine. On the other, it will mark the end of what has been a fantastic experience. The interesting people we’ve met, the beautiful places we’ve visited. Cornwall, Dartmoor, Cheddar even Moffat seem like a lifetime ago. Last night we were at the Altnaharra Hotel - the centrepiece of a hamlet perched on the edge of a river full of otters and a valley full of deer.

Here, we were entertained by Walter, the local poacher, sorry, ghillie. A ghillie is a fishing expert who advises rich Americans on how and where to fish for trout and salmon. He also works as a guide on deer hunts and does odd jobs for the hotel. Anyway, Walter, who lives in one of half a dozen houses here in the heart of the Highlands, doesn’t get paid. Not in cash anyway. No, Walter gets paid in beer! Knows his stuff Walter. First for us today is a ride alongside Loch Naver - one of Walter’s favourite fishing spots. This is one of the nicest roads we’ve cycled. Barely 10ft wide, a smooth surface and stunning views.

For the first 18 miles, it’s almost all downhill too. We’re on the Strathnaver Trail, full of Bronze Age cairns and hut circles and pre-Clearance townships. The Highland Clearances of the 18th Century saw the eviction of tenants by hard-up landlords who wanted to use the land for farming to make money. In ten years, 15,000 people were removed to make room for 200,000 sheep. No surprise then that for at least ten miles we don’t see a single person - but lots of sheep and lambs. We didn’t take pictures of any though. Have this one instead:

And this. A remote church made of corrugated iron….

And inside, this Bible, once owned by a Daisy McCloud. She loved her hymns. This one particularly appropriate for those who ride LeJog…

Before we know it, we’re on the North coast, where the River Naver meets the sea.

There are a few punchy climbs over the next 10 miles or so. Perfect for the Grimpeur. But wait, he’s nowhere to be seen. He isn‘t in front of us, and we can’t see him behind us. Let’s hope he‘s not had a mechanical. Monster. Last day. Breakdown. That would be awful wouldn’t it Gaz? We really should give him a call.

That’s a shame. This one doesn’t seem to be working anymore. Oh well. Sure he’ll be ok. Time to push on. Lunch and then finally, the Tickle Monster catches up, with a broken spoke and a buckled wheel. Terrible news. Especially on the final stage. The green jersey could be in jeopardy. We limp on. Until Mr Tickle makes a run for it near Thurso. Only 20 miles to go now. We’ve agreed to neutralise at least five miles before the finish. Meet up, so that we all hit journey’s end together. But there’s always that nagging doubt, someone will break the truce. Hey Mark? At the turn to Dunnet Head though, the Beast meets the Monster. Gaz is behind, ‘taking pictures’ or so he claims. Surely he hasn’t been blown out the back? Ten minutes later the Jolly Boys are reunited when Gaz pulls in for a Magners. Then, with seven to go, there’s an urgency, big rings, smaller sprockets. Tension. It’s like a sprint stage on the Tour de France - with panniers - those dead cows - helping you on the descents, crippling you on the climbs. Fortunately, it’s a downhill finish, but, once again, the Monster is missing. A wrong turn. Honours to Gaz and Carl then! First across the line.

It’s been an amazing experience - better with friends than solo. We demand luxury. A hot shower, a meal fit for kings and a comfortable bed. Here it is then…..

Unbelievable. In the brochure it looked like a palace. In reality, you wouldn’t put convicts in here. The worst place we’ve stayed in all trip. Not a fitting end to our 965 mile journey. Only one thing for it…