When considering planning a bike tour for the summer the obvious choice was to ride from Lands End to John’O’Groats.

The usual dream team of riding buddies came together in the shape of Andrew, Ayoob, and Sam , and we let the idea marinate for a while before committing to firmer plans. After some discussion, we decided that the best of the riding we really wanted to do was in The Lakes and Scotland, and that the stretch from Inverness to John O Groat’s might not offer as enticing terrain as the hilier and more rugged West Coast.

Long story short, we ditched the LeJog plan in favour of starting right the way up near Kendal, and pedalling around much of Scotland. This allowed us to end in Fort William to watch the UCI Downhill World Championships, and to take in the Borders, Cairngorms, Torridon, Applecross, and Skye along the way.

This is a daunting trip to write about, with so many great moments shared between friends I’m unsure any words could do it justice. On reflection, I don’t think I’ve ever had as good a time on a bike trip, or even as good a 9 days full stop. This is a slightly mind-boggling thing to be writing and is a testament to the quality of the riding, the company, and the whole experience. Touring is not boring. This post is a long one, so If you’re interested I’d suggest making a cup of tea before you get stuck in.

Day 1 – It Begins.

Frankly, I was feeling a strong sense of anxiety as we arrived at our starting point and began to unload the car and strap our bags to our bikes. Andrew and Sam are both fit and racing regularly, while Ayoob is in the process of transforming himself into an ultra-endurance nutter having recently completed some massive rides such as the 600km Brian Chapman Audax. By comparison, I’ve been going on very long walks and not giving the road bike the love it deserves. The prospect of hanging with these boys for 1000km and not becoming a burden at the back was freaking me out a bit. I tried not to show it.

We headed out from Oxenholme, through Kendal, and up and over Kirkstone Pass, before a swim in Ullswater. Andrew and I were open to avoiding the cold lake this early in the ride, but couldn’t refuse after watching Sam go charging into the water, arms waving, more reminiscent of somebody who needed to be sectioned than a man on holiday. Peer pressure can be a wonderful thing. Post swim we felt rejuvenated and enjoyed hauling along a dead straight and effortlessly fast road with a stonking tailwind all the way to Carlisle, where we stopped for a Greggs fuel up. Doughnuts were to become a theme of the trip.

Shortly after leaving Carlisle, I won myself the crown jewel of sprints for the ‘Welcome to Scotland’ Sign, but the going got tough after this with some slow, draggy, freshly chip-sealed roads, and I felt as though I was beginning to crack. In the immortal words of the Backstreet Boys, ‘When the going gets tough, the tough get going’, so got going I did.

The legs just about held up, and we made it into Moffat and to the most incredible hostel I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting. The owner was super friendly, the kitchen well equipped, and the place had a record player with a great selection of some of my favourite music. Oh, and there was a huge fluffy cat. We got ourselves washed and changed out of our soggy bibs, Andrew ‘half man half risotto’ Kirby worked some magic in the kitchen, and I put a Shirley Bassey record on. Good times.

Day 2 – Into the Capital

I’ve driven the road from Moffat towards Peebles countless times to ride the steep MTB tech in nearby Innerleithen, and every time I’ve thought the road would be immense fun on a bike. I wasn’t wrong. We dragged up the amusingly named climb of the ‘Devils Beeftub’, and then flew down this incredible road, with sweeping corners and little rises but overall downhill, we ended up in a spontaneous 50kmh chaingang for about ten minutes. Who says touring has to be slow?

After the smash up the heavens opened and it pissed down like crazy, wetter than the pocket of even the wettest otter. Which is very wet. Fortunately, it was warm enough for this to not become not to be much of a problem and we continued smashing along and sprinting for town signs until we reached the canal path through Edinburgh, and our hotel for the night. This day was deliberately short to allow us time to get into the city centre for a little wander about and a nice dinner. We were on holiday after all. Over dinner Andrew asked the waitress about five times for LOTS of bread and told her we were on a long cycle tour. She brought us one slice each.

Day 3 – Wet Wet Wet

Our third day took us from Edinburgh up to Pitlochry on the southern side of the Cairngorms. It was a tough start with more continuous heavy rain and fog which denied us a view when crossing the Firth of Forth bridge. Days like this are when like-minded and solid company become really invaluable. Long rides in the rain have the potential to be pretty grim, but if you’re able to grit your teeth, smile, eat doughnuts, and maintain a positive group mentality, they really aren’t all that bad. In fact I enjoy them in a slightly masochistic sort of way.

Sam broke a spoke today (no, I didn’t build his wheels.) and ended up getting it fixed up at a great little bike shop in Perth. On waiting outside the shop Andrew freaked out an innocent customer of theirs by loudly complimenting a bike that clearly wasn’t hers as she left the shop. ‘Phwoarr that’s nice!’ he said as she scuttled away to the other side of the street. This was hilarious and has prompted the expression being repeated on numerous occasions since.

The last 10 miles of our route into Pitlochry was truly beautiful, through an estate containing what I’m told are some of the tallest trees in the UK. Whether or not this is true I can’t confirm, but they looked pretty massive to me.

We grabbed a Chinese takeaway and ate down by the river, before checking out the hydroelectric dam and salmon ladder. We didn’t spot any salmon, but the sunset was incredible. On returning to our hostel and settling down to bed we quickly realised we had lost the fateful ‘hostel lottery’ and were sharing a room with the loudest snorer ever.

Day 4 – The big one

Snoring guy was so loud in fact, that I didn’t sleep all night and that when his alarm went off at 6am he snored right through it. Andrew had to shake him to wake him up. There is nothing like knowing you’re about to ride 170km across the Cairngorms on no sleep. Still, this day was set to be a beauty and it turns out you can run your body on sweets and excitement rather than actual rest for a surprisingly long time. It’s also possible to summon additional energy reserves by spontaneously singing the hits of Robbie Williams.

Midway through this day we were joined by Jack, who Sam and I knew from Bristol but had moved up to Edinburgh a couple of years ago. He’s a strong bike rider but was on a more relaxed machine and doesn’t have quite the same racey tendencies as the other four of us. This provided a welcome change of pace and stopped us from absolutely ruining our legs halfway through the trip. Another friendly face is always a good thing.

We stopped off at Loch Morlich for a little dip, but I chose this time to take a tactical nap, lounging in the sun for 20 minutes. People sometimes assume as quite an active guy I might have trouble sitting around doing nothing, but given the opportunity I could happily spend a few days led in the sun in my pants.

After the swim, I insisted on dragging everyone on a little detour to the incredible Boat of Garten pump track, Sam and Ayoob had a head-to-head pursuit race which very nearly resulted in Ayoob having a massive accident. Fortunately, bikes remained rubber side down. The bicycle touring gods were smiling on us.

The end of this day into Inverness was truly exceptional riding, with smooth, quiet, roads, and that sort of golden hour low sun that flickers through the trees and gives everything an orangey tint. On the final descent, the sun was piercing through the clouds like some sort of divine beam of light guiding us to our finishing point. This was not a time to take photos, and even if any of us had I don’t think we’d have done it justice.

Day 5 – Once a racer always a racer.

There was a chill in the air as we headed out through the industrial edges of Inverness and over the Kessock Bridge, and while spirits were good it felt as though we were all beginning to feel the effects of a few days on the bike, and needed a little longer to get into the swing of things. The conversation was a little more muted and we trundled along the busier road towards the West coast.

I felt like I didn’t really come to life until lunchtime, but the riding after lunch was by far the best of the day, with a full gas 80Kmh descent into Kinlochewe before turning off onto the winding road past Beinn Eighe and towards Torridon. This road was subtly downhill for 15km, just enough to make you feel like you had absolute hero legs. Winding down the valley towards Loch Torridon and Beinn Alligin which I had hiked earlier in the year, I was so full of joy and couldn’t imagine a better moment. I’ve done a lot of cycling in a lot of places, but this was special.

After reaching Torridon things got a little cagey, we knew that the end point of the day was the monster climb of Bealach na Bà, which has the highest ascent of any road in the UK. Being a slightly competitive bunch, I knew that this was going to turn into a smash up. Andrew hit the front on the valley road to the foot of the climb, we stopped talking, and things got serious. He was setting a crazy pace on the lower slopes of the climb but I was determined to stick with him for as long as possible. I’m not exactly in the shape of my life, but can generally punch above my weight on the climbs, and part of me thought I could give him a run for his money.

Around halfway up we’d dropped Sam and Ayoob, and I was breathing like an asthmatic steam engine. Eventually, I couldn’t cling onto Andrew any longer and let the gap go out, getting to the top a minute down on his rapid pace. This all sounds very serious for a few guys going touring, but what can I say, we love a little race and I will never not enjoy a good wack up a big hill. A little glance at Strava (sorry, I know I’m taking this way too seriously) put me 322nd of 14479 attempts, which I was pretty chuffed with for a tired guy with a few frame bags on.

With that competitive itch scratched and all of us well and truly knackered we rolled down the other side of the Bealch to meet our host for the night in Applecross. Clive was a friendly if slightly odd man who i’d guess was in his 70s. His wife had passed away last year almost to the day and he wasn’t normally taking guests, but Ayoob had managed to call around the village and pull a few strings to allow us to stay with him. He talked at length about his bicycle and his life. There was an obvious sense of loneliness to the man and I left hoping that having us stay he might have encouraged consider resuming his B&B services for good and getting a bit more company. After the previous few nights of broken sleep in hostels I slept like a dream at Clive’s place, listening to the rain pattering on the window and with legs totally wrecked from the Bealach smash.

Day 6 – A very Scottish Barbeque

This was the day we finally lost the plot. With enough tiredness usually comes some silliness, and after dragging up and over the back side of the Bealach we began a long game of bicycle tag. Bicycle tag is just like regular tag, and resulted in trackstand competitions, hiding in bushes, and smashing up climbs all to avoid being ‘it’. Andrew and I also had an impromptu wrestling match outside the cafe. We have wrestling history after a drunken night in Innerleithen, and as two skinny men in cycling shoes, I’m sure we gave any onlookers a good laugh. It’s safe to say that neither of us will be pursuing a career in wrestling, but for the record if we did I have beaten him on both occasions.

Sam suggested that we pick up supplies from the Coop in Lochalsh before heading over to our hostel on Skye and that we have a barbecue by the water. Bearing in mind it was a grey, overcast and slightly chilly day this seemed like a rogue suggestion, but I was down for it. I bought myself a gin and tonic which I had planned to drink in the evening, and then cracked it open and enjoyed it in the supermarket carpark. Don’t let anybody tell you I’m not classy.

Our barbecue took place next to a beached shipwreck just outside Kyleakin. We had to time the cooking of our salmon against the ever-encroaching tide and build a windbreak from some scrap wood in the old boathouse. Standing in the rain, sheltering the barbecue and cooking salmon fillets doesn’t really sound like the best barbecue ever, but it worked out so well, and just goes to show that you don’t need to wait around for a bright day to cook outdoors. We got everything cooked just before the tide came in and scuttled back to our hostel at Saucy Marys, supposedly named after a Norweigan princess who used to flash her tits at passing ships, a true trailblazer of the #freethenipple movement.

Day 7 – Seals, Track stands, and the finest of lanes.

It’s 6am at Saucy Marys, and I’m awoken by a loud kitchen fan whirring downstairs. ‘Yet another night of broken sleep’ I thought, but I didn’t really care. My body was miraculously still running on joy and sweets.

Today’s route took us off of Skye on the ferry to Glenelg, across a few climbs, and to a smash along the A87 to our destination in Drumnadrochet. The lane and descent down to the Skye Ferry was a thing of beauty, and we were fortunate enough to see a colony of seals lounging on the rocks beside the slipway. Sam said it was one of the best lanes ever, and he knows a thing or two about planning routes along spicy lanes.

We stopped at the cafe in Glenelg, where a couple of the staff were impressed by a little trackstand when rolling into the carpark. They asked us if we’d be up for a competition. having spent 4 years as a cycle courier waiting around at traffic lights trackstanding is about as easy to me as buttering a slice of bread and I knew I’d have this in the bag, but Ayoob put up a good challenge and we ended up doing no hands and ultimately closing our eyes before one of us faltered. They kindly gave me a Skye Ferry mug as a little prize which I dangled from my saddlebag. finally embracing the #danglemug after years of slating people for hanging mugs off of their saddlebags to get filled with road grime.

The final destination for the day was the small town of Drumnadrochett, on the shores of Loch Ness, and the last 50km of our ride was along smooth fast roads. Jack was happy to cruise along this section at a steadier pace, giving the green light for the other four of us to have yet another spontaneous chainy. In my mind, this lasted about 20 minutes but on later checking strava we were right on the rivet for nearly an hour. I thought back to my anxieties at the beginning of the trip and how unfounded they were. I’ve been riding bikes my whole life, and have a solid base of fitness that isn’t going to disappear overnight. Somehow it can be hard to trust this, but my legs seemed to feel better the further into the ride we got. This fills me with confidence for future trips and big rides.

Gelato and pizza were in store for us at the end, with a final glass of whisky on the hostel terrace before saying goodbye to Jack who was heading home the next day rather than joining us to Fort William.

Day 8 – A Home Winner

The ride into Fort William was only 80km, but we had to leave early to get there in plenty of time to reach our hotel and get washed and changed before catching the gondola up the mountain. We were all feeling the effects of the previous day’s final blowout and took it pretty easy most of the way, at least until the legs warmed up and sweets kicked in, and we had a final burst of energy for the last kilometres to Fort William. I knew where the town sign was, and decided that rather than be all tactical and sit on the back I was going to give it one last big turn and let Sam and Ayoob sprint it out for final bragging rights. Sam was victorious, in a town sign sprint already going down in history as ‘almost as epic as world champs’

We got ourselves ready and up the hill to take in the world championships’ downhill action. I’ve watched a lot of downhill over the years but never seen a race of this level in the flesh and It was mind-blowing to see how fast and smoothly riders at this level were tackling the track. This was such a great ending to the trip, and we bumped into plenty of friends and familiar faces whilst walking down the course. Bikes bring people together. I was hopeful for a Bristolian win in the shape of Laurie Greenland, but the men’s race was eventually won by Charlie Hatton from the Forest of Dean. He used to ride for the enduro team of my old employer, and it’s inspiring to see him go from a wide-eyed looking teenager picking up his team bikes from our warehouse to standing on the top step of a world championship podium.

With the race over we faced a slip and slide back down the track to the shuttle bus. The bus queue being huge I decided that we’d be better off taking a walk back down the road into town. This ended up being nearly 10km which was more than expected, but I think my legs felt good for it afterwards. That night in the hotel room we washed all of our clothes, and were left confined to the room wrapped in towels, all four of us squeezed onto a bed in front of the TV, sipping whisky and sat watching nothing in particular until bedtime. Had anybody else wandered into the room at that moment they’d have had quite a sight. Four pasty guys with tanned arms wrapped up in towels side by side on the bed. Cute.

Day 9 – The Return Journey

The trip was now over, and with spirits high, brains stacked full of memories and legs near breaking point, we boarded the train from Fort William. The West Highland railway line was easily the most beautiful train journey I have ever taken, and on googling it I’ve since found that it has won a few awards in travel magazines for being one of the world’s most picturesque. A reminder that you don’t need to board an aeroplane to witness beautiful places. One of the calling stations at Corrour is the highest and most remote in the UK, 16km from the nearest road, and 408m above sea level. I’ll be sure to visit this again someday and take a hike from the station.

On arriving in Glasgow we had a final stroke of luck in being able to catch one of the final laps of the road cycling world championships, watching Van Der Poel rolling past on his way to victory. This was the icing on the cake of an absolutely incredible nine days that I will fondly remember for the rest of my life. In my daily journal, I rank days from one to ten. This trip was a clean sweep of tens. Even with the odd little hiccup and soaking my much loved camera to death, nothing could put a downer on the experience. Bikes, the places they can take you, and the connection they can bring with your friends, are so special.