End to End by Friday - Great Britain, July 1997
My reasons for taking the trip were different. At 34, I'd never seen Britain and I was bored with my job. I wanted to stop and simply meander for a while to see what life presented. A fellow member of the Melbourne Bicycle Touring Club showed me a small map of Britain from the CTC's Web site with a little dotted line from one end to the other. I thought: I can do that. After much nail biting I quit my job and scraped together enough funds to last a year.The next step was choosing a bike. All of a sudden my trusty eight year old Diamond Back MTB just wouldn't do. It always felt too big (I'm five foot nothing), and though made of thick-walled aluminium tubing, it seemed heavy and cumbersome. The next three months were spent severely testing the patience of my cycling flatmates Carl and Mick, while I decided between a Birdy, a Bike Friday, a Moulton, or a custom-made 26" wheel hybrid with S&S Bicycle Torque Couplings fitted. I even considered a Terry 26" rear wheel, 24" front creation. Bromptons, I should add, were not well known in Australia at the time.
My criteria were as follows: The bike
needed to be light; fit me; easy to transport; carry a year-long life
support system... and be able to get up steep hills. The last point is
important for
less than Olympic riders like me - one is always looking for a lower
gear.
I eventually chose a Bike Friday because of the custom fit (fax your
measurements
and the bike1s in the mail), but also because it was time to try
something
different. It1s amazing how we sometimes find it hard to let go of what
we
know, even if we don't love it. My first bike was a dragster, the
second
was a 10-speed racer and the third was an MTB, so why not try a 20-inch
wheel
folding bike? The Bike Friday promotes itself as a touring bike that folds,
rather
than a folding bike that tours. This is an important point when you1re
undertaking
long-haul travel as opposed to quick commutes, or camp then ride
around
cycle touring. The next bout of angst was over which Bike Friday to
choose.
The Llama or New World Tourist were obvious choices, but having
remained
completely rational and practical up to credit card day, I went and
fell
in love with the Air Friday Triathlon.
This bike is a dream to ride -
a nippy climber and fast freewheeler, with natural suspension in the
titanium seat boom. And it looks incredibly cool. It is designed for
road racing
or light touring with a trailer, but I confess that I've stretched its
duty statement somewhat, loading it up with four panniers and a
lightweight tent on the back rack. Under this load, the Air Friday has
taken me up all but the steepest hills ( less than 17% or 1 in 6), but
understand, I weigh only 42kg, or 61/2 stone. The brake clearance is
limited, so I1ve been restricted around boggy terrain, but that1s
usually when I1ve gotten hopelessly lost!
I1ve been treated to
absolutely
stunning sea views and quaint villages on my journey so far - we have
much
of the former, but few of the latter in Oz. "Try to avoid making
comparisons",
warned my friend. "It dilutes the experience." I1ve generally stuck to
the
CTC route with some deviations and camping stops. In my touring club,
60km
or 40 miles is considered a reasonable day1s ride. We1re lazier over
there
(and we1re not called the Melbourne Bakery1 Touring Club for nothing).
I1ve
also enjoyed the hospitality of the UK-based Women Welcome Women
network
of international female friendship www.womenwelcomewomen.co.uk which
makes
you realize the only reason hotels, motels and B and Bs exist is
because
we humans are generally backward about getting to know each other.
My bike has been a constant
source of interest for cyclists and non-cyclists alike. I haven1t
experienced the real cyclists ride real bikes1 snobbery you hear about,
even in Australia. I particularly enjoyed riding from Falmouth to St
Mawes - breathtaking scenery - and the imposing Citadel at Plymouth. A
few tips are worth sharing here, as my journey unfolds. Weight-wise,
it1s far better to leave the tent, sleeping bag and mat at home and
hostel it. However, if on a tight budget, as my homeless, jobless,
vagabond status dictates, super lightweight equipment is essential. I1d
recommend a Saunders, or the incomparable NZ Macpac Microlite tent
(1.5kg), and the new breed of sleeping bag where you slip your
ultralight inflatable mat in a sleeve, while the bulky loft sits on
top, where you really need it.
YHA1s are nudging the 12 quid mark in some places, and they evict you
after
10am. One day I wanted to rest - even the toilet was locked, so I had
to
take a leak in the garden.
I have some Ortlieb waterproof
rear panniers - they1re a slightly weighty luxury, but after the full
Dartmoor experience, I1m very glad of them. One has a light gizmo that
converts it into a day pack. I also have a dynamo light and a
head-torch. Invariably, you will need to be seen in dull weather, or
nip out at night for a bite
to eat. An ordinary car chamois is invaluable as a towel that never
goes mouldy, and to wipe down the tent, bags etc. Stock up on Isostar,
or put
a herbal teabag in your water-bottle to make it more interesting. Well,
I1m off to Bath now. Cheers, see you at the top!
We waved goodbye to Lynette
at Castle Cary railway station early in July. She has since been
sighted in
Bristol, Chepstow, Chester and Windermere.
End To End By 'Friday (cont'd) - More Mountains,
More Moors.
Last issue saw me languishing in the plush Somerset
environs of the Society Formerly Known As Folding, having suffered a
severe bout
of "cleatus interruptus" (i.e. neglecting to unclip one's feet from
one's
pedals when one suddenly finds oneself stationary). Woe was moi.
Minutes
earlier I'd run into three lads from London wearing sweatshirts
embroidered
"END TO END 1997". I suggested the message should read "END TO ", with
the
final END stitched up when they'd, well, stitched it all up. Hey,
serves
me right. I resisted the urge to sneak Jane's covetable fish-shaped hot
water
bottle into my pannier and headed for Bristol. There I sipped a latte
in
very fashionable Mud Dock Bikecaf accompanied by the equally sartorial
Gary
Lovell and Ray Racy. Gary waved me off at the Severn Bridge, emptying a
roll
of film I suspect I'll see in Vogue - NOT!
From the serene Wye Valley up through Hereford,
Shropshire and Cheshire the CTC route is virtally flat.
I chilled out for three days at a magic little
village called Clun, where I decided I should marry a sheep farmer and
bake cakes for the local tea room for the rest of my life. ("Rooobish",
intones Kevin back at base camp Windsor. "You'll be bored within a
mooonth").
One thing about ambling through a country without a
strict deadline is that precisely the right things happen at precisely
the right times. Ten miles out of nowhere on a Sunday I developed what
I thought was a mechanical failure. The pedals slipped as if something
had broken. I wandered back and forth scratching my head, rode off,
came back, faffed about as one does, when around the corner comes Tony,
a fireman from Bishop's Castle. Not
only does this man build bikes, he's toured extensively, and after 2
minutes
of rummaging trhough a large box of bolts at his house, fixed my bike
(a
missing bolt on the rear rack). The universe provides.
I developed a penchant for Welshmen in Eyton, Wales.
I'd camped in the field behind the Fox 'n' Hounds pub, fronted by the
most gregarious Liverpudlian you could ever hope to meet. At some
ungodly hour a gang of formidable-looking
lads rolled in singing rugby songs. One took a shine to me and said,
"Come
and meet me moom". Had I been faster on my feet I'd have told him to
knock
on my tent at 8am tomorrow and I'll "meet your moom". Sigh.
Unfortunately, a less desirable fella chose to knock
on my tent at an exceedingly undesirable hour in the Lake District. I'd
been reading Josie Dew's hair-raising account of being held prisoner to
some
drunk sex maniac when I heard a shuffling in the darkness outside. "Are
you
all right in there... alone .. Lynette?" he said. "Yes thank you" I
replied. "Oh, er, I'm trying to chat you up." "Not a good time". "Oh"
He scrunched away into the night. Well! I lay there shitscared for
about two hours, expecting a Swiss Army knife through the fly at any
moment. That's really the only dodgy
moment I've had so far. Incidentally, the Borrowdale and Langdale areas
in
the Lake District are truly the best places to head on a bike. The
campsites are laid back campsites and the road into both areas is
fairly flat, with mountains rising up all around you. I have to thank
Mike Walker, the Moto Guzzi man I met in Kirkby Lonsdale, for his
advice.
I was sitting on a fence near Dumfries scoffing an
absolutely delicious Balti pie, when an Italian gent in a Versace suit
rolled up to
asked directions. He spoke little English, so I took the opportunity to
practice my ten-word Italian vocabularly over a drink in the Leadhills
pub. Although "wakey wakey hands off snakey" did not , I think, figure
in my limited conversation, the Italian Stallion suddenly found enough
English to ask me very directly to sleep with him. When I declined - I
had to get to Glasgow - I found myself in a passionate embrace from
which I had to forceably untangle myself. Upon which he roared off in a
huff.
Heading towards Glasgow I noticed a lycra streak
fast
approaching in my rear vision mirror. It was a mileeater! He proudly
informed
me that he was exceeding the daily average on the CTC route, cycling
90-100
miles a day (as opposed to my average of 0-40 miles). Despite his tight
schedule, he deigned to come camping with me on a farm in Blackwood. We
treated ourselves to possibly the worst meal: a 3.95 quid, 3-course meal
ever - a Batchelor's meal gone horribly wrong, however, we did get
shouted 10 pints each, and after
dignifying the act of giving by receiving, wove our way back to the
campsite.
Next morning I thought my comrade would have long flown. Instead I
heard
a moan from the tent next door, only until 0930 hrs, mind you. After a
vat
of Lynette's special brekky (porridge, banana, jam and whatever else)
he
was off in a flurry of scotchlite, his address twirling in his
slipstream. But, as the trailer-towing ironman Paul Brennan who I met
in Ullapool noted, it doesn't matter how you do it, as long as you do
it different from what you normally do.
The Glasgow to Loch Lomond Cycleway is terrific - a
scenic path with only a couple of confusing bits ( you can always ask a
friendly Glaswegian) which disappears briefly through Renton and
Alexandria but reappears right beside the Loch nearer to Luss. It
basically becomes the old road, linking
many quiet car parks . I got to Tyndrum and suffered a severe bout of
depression.
They do say that you experience the highest highs and the lowest lows
when
you're travelling alone. What pissed me off was the enormous trucks and
buses
thundering up to Fort William and west to Oban. I tossed a coin, jumped
on
a train to Oban and was on Mull that evening. It was the best decision
of
my whole trip. I camped for three days at a campsite at
Killacronin
near Loch Na Keal, the southside of which is just wild, big cliffs
overlooking
a fantastically eerie hunk of rock called Eorsa Island. From there I
took
a ferry to the hard and hilly Ardnamurchen Peninsula where I met a
nice
young shepherd who proved to be non-too-sheepish after a none-too-wee
dram.
But you'll have to read my book for more details on that!
From this, the most westerly point in Britain, you get
fantastic views out to all the islands and even the Outer Hebrides on a
good day. That's where I headed next, cycling up to Mallaig via the
coast, stopping at Lochailort where I camped on the nature strip of
Shiela and Ray Boden. I took a late ferry out to the Outer Hebrides,
arriving on Barra, the southernmost island, at midnight. I stumbled
around in the dark and pitched my tent where I could get the pegs in.
Next morning I unzipped my tent directly onto a view of Kismul
Castle floating in the middle of the bay, obstructing the view for a
bunch
of camera-clicking tourists. I rode north, through the Uists which are
indeed
wierd - bits of land and water strung together by one long road. I
spent
a magic 2 days on Berneray, which is like the Carribbean without the
temperature.
South Harris is the most brilliant place - a lunar landscape that had
me
gawking so much almost fell off my bike several times. I got a lift
with
a friendly piano tuner in Lewis, saving me a 15-mile slog through
moorland
when I left it a bit late to find a camping spot. Back on the mainland
at
Ullapool I took the coastal road north through Lochinver, after
initially setting off up the inland road then turning around in
boredom. The road twists throuh the Inverpolly National Park, through
which is utterly spectacular. Somewhere near Bettyhill at the top the
wind came up so severe I was almost blown off my bike into a truck. The
universe provides - a lorry driver gave me a lift 30 dull miles to
Thurso, winching my bike on to the top of his cargo
of bitument barrels with a pallet lifter.
I started to develop a worrisome stomach upset,
which
I put down to exertion, or a female thing, or worms, or kidney stones,
or
maybe just needing a break. So as I rolled towards toward John O'Groats
I
felt a little down. All of a sudden a rusty car pulled up beside me and
kid,
who couldn't have been more than 16, leaned across and shouted,
"Would you like a date?" "What?" I said. "A date. You know, a kiss and
cuddle like" "What?" I said, hardly believing this conversation, "Is ..
is that the way you pick up girls?" "Ach, it's the way it's done up
here". I told him I was going to John O'Groats, so no. "If I go to John
O'Groats, will you give me a date?" When I got there he was waiting in
his car, and pestered me constantly about the "date" I'd somehow
"promised him". "I've always fancied getting it on with a foreign
lassie" he chimed. He lamented what a hole Thurso was, where he'd lived
for 18 years with no brothers, sisters or "foreign lassies" but rather
fags, alcohol and cannabis to entertain him. He claimed he spent
60 quid a week on cannabis. I felt like an interviewer on Youth At
Risk.
He did have a job - as a self-employed lobster
fisherman. On a good day he could snare thirty, and at 8lb/kg
(each a minimum
of 0.5kg) I could see how he funded his recreational toys and
clapped-out
diesel-powered chick-mobile. Outside my tent, the flat grassy slope
that
is John O'Groats gave way to a mediocre vista of sea punctuated by some
indistinguishable flat land masses - Orkney I suppose. The Rough Guide
was right - a bit of an anti-climax, and with this in mind, I thought,
what the hell, and gave into my persistent cab criver. Needless, the
experience proved to be as anti-climactic as JohnO'Groats itself. I now
now why I prefer older men. Mission accomplished, he bolted from my
tent, thankfully without hesitation to face his mother's chagrin and a
dehydrated evening meal. The journey continues...
Letter from Lynette, 13 August
1997:
It's been two months since I started out from Land's
End and I think I've reached the best place in the whole world -
Scotland! I'm writing this at Lochailort, in the lounge of the very
kind and generous Ray and Shiela Boden, whose nature strip I stumbled
across on my way to Mallaig (jumping off point for the Isle of Skye)
and subsequently camped on. They gave me water and a very yummy slice
of home made apple pie - loooxury! Although I've come a long way and
bumped into the most amazing people I'd have to class
yesterday as my best achievement to date: riding along the hard and
hilly
Ardamurchen Peninsula to the Britain's (Europe's? I haven't got my
Atlas
with me) most westerly point. From this place you can look out to see
the
craggy islands of Rum, Eigg, Coll and Tiree and on a clear day, Skye
and
the Outer Hebrides some 75 miles away. After that slog I don't think I
can
make any excuses for not going on the MBTC 'Hard' rides! Another reason
I
feel like I've done more than just pedal the well worn path is that
I've now
gone right off the tried-and-true CTC End-to-End route. Up till then I
think
I was sticking to it out of a need for security, even though I've
deviated
left and right of it, all along the way. What happened was this: I was
camped
in this crowded site at Tyndrum where where huge trucks and
tourist-laden
buses were chugging north to Glen Coe and Fort William and I thought:
this
isn't fun - get me out of here! So I jumped on the train to Oban and
landed
on the Island of Mull that afternoon. There I camped for at a fantastic
spot
overlooking Loch Na Keal and a stream. From there I went for a spin
around
the southern side of the Loch where it's wild and windswept, with the
cliffs
hanging gloomily over the single-track road.
I took a ferry to the Ardnamurchen Peninsula
yesterday and apart from riding to the lighthouse (hilly!) met a very
nice young shepherd/shearer/ex-houndsman in a pub. None-too-sheepish
John took me in his car to the north coast to see the deer congregate
on the hill, and watch the sun set pink over Rum and
Eigg - like the Lost World of Atlantis, then cooked me a hot meal and
gave
me a bed in his 3-bedroom house. Such is Scottish hospitality,
especially in the north. (In Dumfries, an old fellow gripped my arm and
told me, "In the South, they won't see you starve, they shut their
eyes!"). Speaking of Dumfries, a guy stopped to admire the Bike Friday
(as most people have). Rick
owns Rick's Bike Shed, took me mountain biking in the Mabie Forest with
a
gang of young thrashers. This is the first time I've been mountain
biking, the drops were near vertical and it pissed down. I did surprise
myself by getting up some steep bits on a Saracen 24" kids bike - must
be the weeks of carrying my entire house contents between my thighs.
Today I'm off to Mallaig to catch the 6pm ferry to
the Outer Hebrides, starting at Barra, the southernmost Isle , and
riding heading north through the Uists, Harris and Lewis. From there
I'll return to the
mainland at Ullapool and might head up towards Durness, and across to
John
O'Groats. There I shall throw the bike in the sea and buy a Holden
Commodore
- only kidding. But I might not do this at all - the great thing is,
anything
can change.
30th September
Hi! I've just come back from a FANG through France
to
Basel, Switzerland, on the back of a motorbike (a very cool,
retro-looking
Honda CB750, for gear freaks out there). What a blast. The funny thing
is,
on a motorbike you go out of your way to find twisty steep ascents.
Quite
the opposite when on a bicycle (unless you're a masochist after the
spotted
jersey). Although I can hardly talk having deliberately ridden the hard
'n'
hilly Ardnamurchen Peninsula in Scotland (aaah, where is my shepherd?).
Switzerland is a funny place - very ordered. like, dare I say,
clockwork. Like most Germanic countries. Reminded me of Munich and
Austria. My 10 quid/day budget went out the well-engineered window in
our host's immaculate apartment. My chauffer Kevin, Mark and I hired a
car and headed for the Alps - the Jungfrau, to be
exact, where we trotted up to the base of a glacier in our street
shoes. The
scenery was stunning of course (it would want to be at $A35 for the
Thomas the Tank Engine ride up the hill) but Scotland is still hard to
beat for sheer
desolation. Magic.
September 8
Hi Lynette, do you remember me? We met at Durness
and
at Tongue and I'm the german girl, cycling in Scotland. It was very
good
to meet you, gave me a good spirit, you were so very much enthusiastic
and
open-minded. What are you doing now? If you pass Germany, make a break
at
Goettingen! Contact me by phone or by email
(u.ohlmer@wiso.uni-goettingen.de)
Take care, Ulrike
September 1
Greetings Lynette will we ever meet. Should we
have
a headon in the Black Forest.As we head north for the winter will we
see
you sensibly pedaling south with the birds. We can be contacted via our website http://www.emisteve.it.st Au revoir. Steve S.
August 29th
Message from Martin and Moya Thompson on a tandem
cycle camping in the Western Isles. We met Lynette in Harris on August
18th full of the joys of Summer and an enthousiastic salesperson for
Bike Friday.
On her recommendation we diverted to Berneray Island and camped beside
the
Gatliffe Hostel. Lynette seemed more tolerant of the dirty condition of
the
hostel than we were - but perhaps we were put off by the gale force 6
straight
off the sea and into our tent. Valley Cycles seem to expect Lynette at
their open weekend 12-14th September in Wellingborough. Perhaps we will
see you there Lynette? regards, Martin and Moya
August 26th
I met Lynette at Laxford Bridge on her way to
Durness, in the north-west part of Scotland. She was looking fine even
though the
hill upthere are pretty steep. As a cycliste myself, I can tell you
that
she is a pretty courageous girl. Keep on going girl, Stephane Tremblay.
August 21
Had a call from Lynette tonight. She had just
returned to Ullapool from the Outer Hebrides and was heading for
Durness. Said she would be at John O' Groats by the end of the month
and from there would
head back to Inverness then to Edingburgh. Also mentioned something
about
going to Switzerland with Kevin on a MOTORBIKE! What will Bike Friday
think
about that.
August 19th
1997 Hello there, we (Monique and me) met Lynette
in the campsite of Arran, just over the Scottish border on the 28/29st
of July. She was on her way to Dumfries then. We were spending our
holidays touring Scotland on a motorbike, and though motorized we found
the slopes steep as well... When developed, we mail you a picture of
Lynette and more! Groetjes, Alexander
August 18th
I am sending this from Wales but in actual fact we
met up with Lynette at the campsite at Loch na Keal on the Isle of Mull
on August 7th. An absolutely beautiful place with lots of buzzards,
geese and herons for neighbours (we saw a golden eagle on the island
but at an even more remote spot). Anyway, Lynette looked splendid -
this tiny figure peddled into the campsite looking for the loo and
washing place, which was 300 yards back along
the road she had biked along! Within minutes we had news of her journey
-
it sounded like she had had good fun in Wales. Good luck Lynette - this
is
a brilliant website - it will be so interesting to follow your
progress. Cheers,
Katie
11 August, 1997, from (the very
kindhearted) Ray and Sheila: Hi from Lochailort in the Highlands. This is a
quick e-mail from Ray and Sheila Bowden in Lochailort. Lynette was here
on Monday 11th August and used our facilities (computer) to e-mail you
on Tuesday.
She was in good spirits and was looking fine.
We provided her with some sustenance (home made
apple
pie and some home grown vegetables) as well as water. She camped under
a
copper beech tree by our garden and the River Ailort. The local
wildlife
took a liking to her and so she was found burning a mosquito coil to
keep
the local midges at bay!!
We suspect that she is finding some of our hills quite
hard but her strength and endurance are increasing. She left here on
Tuesday morning for Mallaig to catch the ferry to Barra. We will keep visiting your site to keep track of her
progress. Ray and Sheila at Tormore, Lochailort.
Back in July:
She was huffing and puffing away from the "sordid
outskirts of Manchester" toward the Lake District. The rest of the
postcard (actually it's her photo on the right here) refers to what
seems to be a depraved
and debauched encounter with 6 inebriated Welsh karaoke fanatics.
DISASTER!
Due to a combination of false economy and mild
enebriation, I've trashed my Sharp Personal Agonizer containing ALL my
addresses. So
if any of you are reading this and you want to stay in touch with me,
PLEASE email me your details. Ah, the lessons we learn. The cap on my
water bottle had come loose, and instead of replacing it I decided to
save 2.50 quid and make do, as one does on a 10 quid/day budget. At
O'Brien's pub last Friday the lid came off, drowning everything in my
waterproof inner lined bag. Instead of addressing this problem
immediately I thought, "she'll be right" and ordered another Heineken.
She wasn't. I now have an address book with one of those pencil thingos.