NC500 - Horse legs and old duffers

Fantastic.  I’m handed a small basket of dry clothing this morning.  Its so nice.  Warm.  Not a hint of moisture.  I do hope however that they did not dry it with any other persons clothing cos whilst it was wet and cept for the bits that shared a bath with me last night, the rest of it is minging and in desperate need of a wash.  Or being burned.  Or buried.  I forgot to tell the reception not to mix my bits with anyone elses.   ‘Wonder what washing powder they use here’ I heard the guests in room number 6 say at breakfast under their breaths.  ‘Cos our wash stinks like manky cycling shorts. Sniff, Whooooahh boy, Phew!’

The Ben Loyal hotel in Tongue is one of the better ones if not the best in this part of the world.  I’m drinking Happie Chappie pale ale last night hoping it will raise my spirits.  Nah it just put me into a coma at 9pm and into a world of weird dreams living on the edge of something hard in a dark part of this planet waiting for something nasty to happen.  Very disturbed last night.  I was awake at 03:30, hungry and wanting breakfast which was still some 5 hours away.  OK I’m guilty.  I dipped into the grab bag full of all things nice and sweet for use on the ride and have a wet bourbon chocolate cream or several of them with my coffee.  Sorry Alan.  I pass the rest of the time writing some more unsavoury bits into this blog.

The rain has gone.  Thank God.  Replaced though by the wind which wooed its way across the flat roof.  Bugger, it's gonna be a headwind.  Neva mind.  Only 58 miles to go today, our biggest day, into the wind… pooh..  

Breakfast though was excellent.  It’s here we reflected on several things from the day before.  London Alan again apologised for the gesticulating and swearing behind me yesterday cos of the idiot drivers around Loch Eriboll on the single track narrow as feck roads, especially the silver Range Rover idiot who forced him off the road.  And of the weather and just how crushing a day it was up to the point where our spirits were raised as the rain was blown away in Loch Eriboll.  We talked loudly about how I’ve taken in my high vis jacket and with my bright red flashy led light to riding in the middle of the road to stop fecking idiots from pushing me off the road until I reach a safe passing place.  Finally of how, even though we are tired, we cruise up 15% gradients cos our kegs are stronger.  London Alan can hardly wait to get home, ditch all of his luggage and see how much faster he can ride his 40 mile training loop.  If he’s no quicker after this intense 'boot camp for legs' is done I’m sure I’ll hear him cry all the way up in York.  ‘Yeah', I say, I’ve got an old Dawes Audax Giro at home and when I get home I’m gonna go out on it and I’m gonna slay all them racing snakes now that I’ve got a brand new pair of NW500 legs. ' 

Alan leaves the table to get ready to depart.  It's then whilst I have a 7th slice of toast wedged in my mouth that this muscly pair of hairy horse legs comes over and the slim man atop them says hello.  He’s dressed head to foot in Lycra.  Says yes he remembers his old Audax Giro too.  Feck.  He’s heard the conversation.  He chats about how he used to ride in California when he worked there.  There's a badge on his shirt.  Champion something.  Not a replica.  Kinda looks like the real thing.  Er today I’m not gonna 'eat him for breakfast' when I’m out on the bike.  No.  Perhaps I’ll beat him in a breakfast eating competition.  Yes that’s what I meant.  

Before setting off we’re in the hotel car park.  The cyclist comes out.  Nice and chatty and so unlike other ignorant racing snakes; and not having taken any offence he tells us about his ride today.  Effectively riding the way we came yesterday and back on the long way round and over the tops to Bonar Bridge.  I estimate a 100 mile day.  Feck.  He’s on a razor thin bike with absolute minimal stuff on it.  I guess he’s gonna ride fast.    He’s taking the high (long way round) road and were taking the low (most direct) road and I’m half expecting him to flash past us on the run in to the crap hole he’s gonna be staying in, the Dunroamin Hotel (yes I’ve been there - he hasn’t and probably will never again) at Bonar Bridge.  Zoom!  And he’s gone. 
 
Then this old duffer wanders over.  ‘Hello' he says.  'I see you’re riding a bike.  Where too?’.  I gush all about the days rides so far and our ride in and around Loch Eriboll yesterday.  ’Tell me’ he says ‘ Is it normal for a cyclist to ride in the middle of the road?’  ’No’ says I.  '99% of drivers are courteous to us cyclists on uphill struggles and in the rain but every now and again I hear the fecking idiot driving up quickly behind, especially the feckers in 4x4’s who think they own the fecking road, so I deliberately ride in the middle of it to slow the feckers down until we get to a passing place then let the feckers past.  It’s feckers like them that have caused London Alan to be forced off the road on more than one occasion.  The feckers’. 

‘Oh' he says and wobbles off down the car park.  I turn around and watch him glide serenely into a silver Range Rover and slide away… Lol 1-0!

I ask the receptionist if she has any water for my drinking bottles.  Oh yes she says with a slight whiff of superiority, you will find some water in the Gentlemen's toilets.  And every fecking where else in this fecking part of the world I say under my breath.  

We set off.  It’s gonna be a long day today.  We have 58 miles to cover and 3 small mountain ranges to cross to get to the digs near Tain.  

It's a tough little climb to start with.  The scenery gets better and better as we go up. 

We come down the other side.  I see that London Alan is struggling.  Even on the down hill sections its hard for him.  It's as if someone has tied his knicker elastic to a 'passing place' maker pole and he's getting slower and slower.  Perhaps they did, at the same time as they unpicked the stitching in the front of his new cycling shorts.  So not only does he have dead legs to deal with today but also a small man made hernia with half a sausage and one plum fighting their way out of their personal hell.  

When Alan goes deadly quiet like he did this morning you know something is up.  I try to force more sweet stuff down his throat. Politely he refuses.  His legs for sure are slamming against a brick wall on every rotation and we're not even half way up.  I offer to carry his panniers on my front rack.  Absolutely not he says.  'I’ve got this far...'  Stubborn bugger.  No, determined I would say.  On he plods with me following behind or watching his white light for wobbles closely in my small rear-view mirror.  Just across the second range is the small village of Altnaharra which has a hotel. Cake and coffee is given intravenously. It's that which triggers his breakfast into action cos for the rest of the third climb he’s back to his normal self. Good.  It's then mostly a smooth long 15 miles down, down, down to Bonar Bridge. There's still a hard 20 miles of riding to do to the digs and with a rhythmic squeak grinding noise from my bet drive we get there for just after 6.30 (PM not AM).  It's a beautiful silvery evening in the Dornock firth.

Yer Ken Ken picks us up tonight in his rather zoomy Ford Fiesta ST.  It do go some.  We had planned to meet with him and his partner Debs for Dinner.  I can imagine Deb gripping the car seat and Yer Ken Ken by the goolies as he whizzes along with the threat to decapitate him if he does not slow down.  Bloody advanced drivers.  We gush out stories like overflowing waterfalls and smash anecdotes into them like waves on the Assynt coastline.  It's fantastic to be able to bring all our memories to light again whilst still so fresh after only 12 days in the saddle.  A superb evening.  And it is nearly done.  

I’d told London Alan that we had only 26 miles or so to go to Inverness and that he could have a sleep in tomorrow.  I rechecked.  Bum.  Its nearer 40.  Oh dear.  His faced dropped like that of a naughty 5 year old who's just been told that Christmas is cancelled.  He’s now got face like thunder.  Sorry Alan.  

Here he is after a hard day’s ride.  Bless.

Just one ‘average’ riding day to go today through non mountainous agri-land to the north of Inverness.  

No more mountains.   Then, sadly, we’re all done.

Ciao for now