Small starts, GREAT ENDS
Dom Dempers hits some extremes in eight days biking across Scotland, England and Wales
DAY 1: Edinburgh to John O’Groats (439km)
Ayear after we’d tackled Route 66 in the US, a good friend and I embarked on our next epic bike journey: Edinburgh to John O’Groats to Land’s End to London. The ride would take Andrew Bonamour and me through some spectacular parts of Britain, all the way to some of the mainland’s very edges. We also had a steely determination to obliterate some stereotypes — we would find some generous Scotsmen, some Englishmen with a decent set of teeth and at least one Welshman whose surname was not Jones or Williams.
On any trip, first days tend to be a bit clunky — after all, we had new bikes (rented Triumph Tigers) to get used to — but we managed to get going without too much fuss.
The Tigers’ GPS had been pre-programmed with our daily routes and we knew it would be a plus not having to pull over to check Google Maps. I did, however, have to pull over just 1km into our journey to clean up after a bird relieved itself on me. It wasn’t the best feeling but it’s supposedly good luck.
We roared north, buoyed by the dry weather, the partial sunshine and the good visibility (by Scottish standards anyway).
We took the M90 north to Perth and then the A9 through Cairngorms National Park. After a fuel stop in Inverness and a hop across Loch Ness (no sight of the monster), we rolled up the east coast to John O’Groats.
The countryside was spectacular, with lush forests and farmlands followed by sparsely covered hills in the Highlands, some stubborn snow lagging here and there. Inverness to John O’Groats was the highlight — a narrow, winding road with the grey, misty ocean on our right and lush farmlands on our left. Ancient, low-stone walls carved up miles of green grass, dotted with yellow flowers and thousands of shaggy, layabout sheep. It was a long but beautiful first day.
DAY 2: John O’Groats to Invergarry (407km)
“Spring has arrived!” said friendly Ann at breakfast in our B&B. It was raining and cold and I made a mental note never to visit John O’Groats in winter.
We weren’t too concerned, though, as we’d prepared for this. After fresh eggs and square sausage, we kitted up in our rain gear.
And so it was a pair of Michelin men who waved Ann goodbye and headed west.
The weather came in waves all morning, with patches of light rain and wind followed by drier, calmer spells. Still, no amount of rain could ruin the scenery as we sped by sheep-dotted hills, white-sand beaches, a few vast lochs and so many beautiful rivers.
We went through quaint, seaside villages including Dunnet (home to Easter Head, the most northerly point of mainland Britain), Tongue and Durness, right up to Cape Wrath, Britain’s most northwesterly point.
It was slow going down the west coast, on roads so narrow they were often only wide
enough for a single vehicle, to Scourie, where we stopped to thaw out with soup.
South of Scourie, as we cut inland for Invergarry and our overnight stop, the land changed again, to thick forests and expansive lochs. The weather also changed to driving rain and plummeting temperatures. It was still spectacular but I’ll remember my hot bath that night for the rest of my days.
DAY 3: Invergarry to Hawick (357km)
It was a sunny morning and the hotel staff confirmed it would be a beautiful day along our whole route! The excitement clearly went to our heads as we packed up the rain gear and set out, full of the joys of spring.
It was a spectacularly still morning. The surface of Loch Oich was like an enormous mirror reflecting the forests, mountains and skies. But 30km later, we were back in the wind and rain, scrambling about on the side of the road to find our rain gear. Never trust the Scots when they predict a beautiful day!
The rain lasted a good few hours but the scenery was a welcome distraction.
We headed south along the banks of Loch Lochy to Fort William, past Ben Nevis with its snowy peaks, down through Glen Coe and up into the mountains and then along the banks of Loch Lomond.
Once again it was breathtakingly beautiful despite the rain. After Glasgow, things dried out a bit as we headed through farmlands to Peebles, Selkirk and then on to our overnight stop in Hawick in the Scottish Borders region.
DAY 4: Hawick to Chester (300km)
A lazy start this morning. We knew the roads were good and we were in for a fast, easy ride. The blue skies and sunshine helped.
Riding south, on a quiet country road, we crossed into England. As if by magic, all the sheep seemed suddenly to turn into cows.
The Lake District National Park was incredible, especially the quaint villages of Keswick and Grasmere and riding along the banks of Lake Windermere. Wordsworth once described the area as “the loveliest spot that man hath ever found”. We could see why.
We had also begun to realise that the standard biker greeting here is not as simple as in the US. On Route 66, we soon picked up that, when passing a biker (riding towards you), you should drop your left arm out while maintaining a deadpan, straight-ahead stare. Besides looking cool, this works in the US as the left hand is on the same side as the passing biker (they ride on the right), while the right hand holds the accelerator. But in the UK, the left hand is on the wrong side.
So far, we had been greeted with either a nod (acceptable) or a very awkward left-hand wave across the body (not at all acceptable). Obviously, we had been going with the nod.
After lunch in Kendal, we headed south again to hop across the River Mersey and into Chester for our overnight stop.
DAY 5: Chester to Upper Coxley (257km)
Another rapturous day on the bike. We made light work of getting out of Chester early and also decided we were making some headway with the nod. The further south we went, the more nods we got — ignore the one supernerd who greeted us by sticking out his leg!
In no time, we had crossed into Wales, where the consonant is king and the vowel is frowned upon. For part of the morning, we zig-zagged across the English-Welsh border through farmlands and tiny villages. It was easy to tell which country we were in: if we could pronounce the village name it was England; if not, it was Wales.
After a ride through the Brecon Beacons National Park and lunch in Abergavenny, we headed south once more, crossing the long River Severn Bridge back into England.
Once through Bristol we wound our way up into the Mendip Hills Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (it’s really called that) and then down into quaint Coxley in Somerset — “the real England”, as one lady had told us.
DAY 6: Upper Coxley to Land’s End (295km)
Blue skies accompanied us southwest past Glastonbury, rumoured to be the site of King Arthur’s Camelot. On we rode to Exeter in Devon, where massive oaks stretch across lanes, creating bright green tunnels to ride through, into Dartmoor National Park and across the moors to Tavistock. We wound through country lanes to Launceston, the ancient capital of Cornwall, and finally southwest on the motorway to Land’s End, the most westerly point of England.
After a tiring and exhilarating ride we reached the Land’s End post and queued with other tourists for the mandatory selfie.
Our home for the night, Trereife House in nearby Penzance, felt remarkably like the set of Four Weddings and a Funeral. It’s a vast old Cornwall home, run by a family of frightfully English Englishmen, including a wonderfully mad old bugger and his awkward son (think young Hugh Grant), whose family have lived in the house for centuries.
DAY 7: Land’s End to Salisbury (343km)
There wasn’t huge enthusiasm at breakfast for today’s ride. We both had a cold and a long day lay ahead, a good half of it on roads we have already ridden.
We kitted up and headed northeast for two hours on the same motorway that had brought us to Land’s End. Once at Exeter, we left the motorway for a considerably more scenic route that took us into Dorset and briefly along the south coast through the beautiful market town of Bridport and then inland to historic Dorchester, where we stopped for a ploughman’s lunch.
Then it was a short hop to Salisbury for a much-needed rest. Tomorrow, London.
DAY 8: Salisbury to London (141km)
After donning my last pair of clean jocks and socks (planning is everything) and a dire buffet breakfast, we were on the road early.
Our final short route took us past Stonehenge, Basingstoke, Reading and Guildford, then into London’s morning traffic.
We’d covered many memorable miles, from the remote north coast of Scotland to the lakes of England and the rolling hills of Wales.
As for our mission to debunk those British stereotypes, the Scots did turn out to be generous — in their friendly hospitality and the way they embrace a really challenging climate. The quest for good teeth and uncommon surnames, though, must continue on the next long ride.