Cycling the South Downs Way in a Day

The South Downs Way is a long distance path that links Winchester to Eastbourne and is 160km (100 miles) in length.  It also involves an assent of over 3,800m (12,600 feet). Living in Aberdeen I was only vaguely aware of the South Downs and was unaware it could be cycled.  All of this was to change with a move to the south coast of England. This was not the sort of cycle I would ever have considered doing, had not my partner Gael sowed the seed in my mind when I moved down. Why don't you cycle the South Downs Way, she said, do it as a charity ride for the British Heart Foundation. That was 2013 and about a month before the event. Riding 100 miles off road in a day, I thought that was crazy and not for the likes of me...

2013 passed with the birth of my son and many sleep disturbed nights to follow but still managing to get out on my bike, mostly riding to work. Later in 2014 I came across a book called 'Stay Away from the Buttercups' by Richard Sterry, a story of cycling the South Downs way not once, not twice but 3 times back to back without stopping.  It was captivating reading and left me with the idea that riding it once in a day was a possibility for me, and without too much further thought signed myself up for the British Heart Foundation ride to take place in July 2015. That was in December 2014.

I had seven months to train for the cycle. In January I could ride around 20 miles off road without too much effort, generally my off road cycling had been around forests or hills in Scotland and no where near 100 miles in distance. Gael was very encouraging, I was less sure. Hampered by winter colds in January and February training was quite limited.

There was no science involved with my training. I cycled to work as often as I could taking the long route, when I had time, doing between 13 and 20 miles a day and then a bigger ride at the weekend. I'd read that what you cycle in a week you can cycle in a day, so that is what I aimed for. Most of my riding was on the South Downs Way and I intended to cycle all of it in sections before the big day. That was one advantage of living so near to it and also meant there would be no big surprises on the big day.

Chalk tracks on the SDW

 I signed up for the Isle of Wight Randonee which is 66 miles on road and involves a lot of hills (1581m elevation gain and 1587m loss according to my Garmin), as a test well into my training schedule. I completed it in around 7 hours 50 minutes and was pretty pleased with that. I did it on my touring bike and loaded up the handlebar bag and tail pack to make things a little harder. I wasn't keen on gels especially those with caffeine, instead my energy came from cheese sandwiches, homemade flapjack and dates. If I stopped and ate every hour this seemed to keep me going. Maybe there are better ways to eat during a ride but it seemed to work for me.

All of my training I did on my own. I've always enjoyed cycling alone and it was good for my self reliance. Some of the training became a bit demoralising cycling one way along the SDW and then back again, especially the day my chain snapped. Fortunately I had a spare link and chain tool to fix it which was good, however shortly after on the return leg I bonked with about 20km left to get back to the car. That was hell, no energy and food not making much difference, every hill felt like a chore. That was a low point in the training.

The weather had been kind to me during the months leading up to the event with the tracks being dry and mud free. The condition of the track would be a concern if it was to rain before or during the event. In parts the soft clay mud would be a nightmare and the chalk surface found on some of the down hill sections is like riding on ice when it rains. Another concern was the sharp flint fragments found along the way and a closer examination of my front tyre revealed several small cuts trough to the casing, requiring replacement before the event.

Easy going track on the SDW, they are not all like this!

Two weeks before the big day, Gael dropped me at Washington in West Sussex. I had 47 miles to cycle and would get picked up in Eastbourne later in the day. The last 30 miles of the trail is meant to be the hardest. To me it didn't seem very different from the earlier stages apart from the scenery is better with views across to the sea in one direction and a patchwork of fields in the other. It was a fantastic days riding and it made a huge difference just cycling in one direction rather than cycling to a point and turning back. I arrived in Eastbourne after more than 7 hours of pedalling feeling elated and for the first time in a long time feeling positive about the whole thing. Today I felt like I could complete the South Downs Way in a day.

Looking down on Eastbourne, at the end of the SDW

The week before the event I had planned a shorter cycle but ended up cycling about 43  miles. I hoped this had not fatigued my legs too much. I was starting to get nervous, more with anticipation than worry. By the time of the evening of the event this had increased by ten fold. I stayed in the Holiday Inn at Winchester the night below, it's only a mile or so from the start line. It was way after eleven before I got to sleep and with a 4am alarm call I didn't exactly get a full nights sleep.

The night before at a hotel near the start line

After a breakfast of porridge, I made it to the start line just before 5am. This was an achievement considering the self doubt that I had experienced through out the training and very strongly only a month before the event. It had got so bad that I had stopped talking about the event and was afraid to even ask anybody to sponsor me lest I not make it to the start line.

I stared off at 05:03 at a slow pace, it was going to be a long day, and many riders overtook me powering up the hill of Cheesefoot Head. A striking memory was the sun rising over a field of golden wheat as I slowly ascended the hill, it would have been great to stop and take this in more. I was feeling good and covering ground only stopping to push up the last steep section on Winchester hill. I was getting passed by many riders, but I didn't care I just wanted to finish. Not knowing how I would cope with the distance I would back off slightly going up hill so I didn't burn my legs out.

I rolled into check point 1 (20 miles) and 2 hours 40 minutes, after the steep grassy descent off Butser hill. It was busy, too busy. I spoke to a guy whose support driver had not turned up yet, he was travelling light with no supplies. I filled up with water and headed off, my hourly stop for food was a little while off yet. I was carrying just enough food for the day in case Gael could not meet me later on at the half way point.

Check point 2 was at Manor farm (33 miles) again a water stop and a sandwich and flapjack and off again. The day was heating up, my bike felt good and it was nice to chat with other riders along the way.

Check point 3 was at Bury Hill (44 miles) Going nicely as I pushed on past the half way mark with added enthusiasm, I would see Gael and and my little boy at Washington waiting for me with some supplies. My emotions were running high, the cycle now seemed very achievable, tears were rolling down my cheeks, only a few weeks ago I almost called of the cycle, the self doubt had almost crippled me. To have overcome this felt amazing. They had seen many riders pass and waited patiently for me. It was a major lift to see them and get some encouragement for the second half of the cycle. 53 miles around 12.40pm.

No stopping at checkpoint 4 as I was refueled. It was a hard climb up past Chancenbury ring. There was a lady running and I was barely cycling any faster than she was running. Maybe too much food in my stomach taking the blood away from my legs. Once on the top of the downs my pace picked up again on the undulating track. I think the scenery gets better east to west on the SDW, so the day just got better and better riding along the ridge. The temperature was rising but there were some clouds in the sky which helped.

Check point 5 (65 miles) at 14.26, needed to get off the bike and rest for 10 minutes, as I was feeling fatigued. I ate some flapjack and must have felt better because the next 11 miles flew by, I was in the zone and missed my hourly stop by about 40 minutes arriving at the water tap in Housedean. After refilling my bottles I crossed over the A27 and then on to a big climb which was made easier with the company of another rider. He was going strong and told me he hadn't cycled further than 30 miles before today! He was considerably younger than me though which maybe makes things easier. We cycled together for several miles before he lost me on a long downhill.

It was about this time that I saw someone riding in a peculiar fashion, pedalling away and then sitting on his seat and taking his feet off the pedals coming up to one of the numerous gates that cross the path. It turned out his freewheel had jammed but this wasn't going to get in his way of completing the day. Hats off to him, I believe he completed the cycle.


Check point 6  (80.7 miles) Itford farm lane at 17:17 still going strong but thought that if I stopped for too long I wouldn't get started again as my legs were beginning to feel like jelly. Doing some sums I realised I could finish in under 15 hours. That gave me a boost and off I went on my way again cycling all the way to the top of Firle Beacon.

Check point 7 (87.7 miles) at 18.23, just after Alfriston, I'd previously stopped at the shop in Alfiston for there for sandwiches. This time a quick refill of water at the check point.

By this point the strength was going from my legs I pushed my bike up the last two climbs. Other riders were going no faster pedalling on their bikes. Once on top there was the view down to Eastbourne and the finish was in site. There was no stopping now and using the last of my reserves I carried on and down to the road to the finish line.

Awesome feeling having crossed the finish line

Finished  at 19:43 - 14 hours and 40 minutes - no more stats as  my Garmin ran out of battery after 85 miles. It was a tremendous feeling of achievement crossing the finish line. Not only had I completed the ride, I had really enjoyed the day. Due to the shenanigans of my little boy Gael did not arrive until a few minutes later, followed by hugs and tears of joy. The last 7 months had been an emotional roller coaster and had put a lot of strain on family life but I had done it and my proved to myself what I can achieve. I had also raised a reasonable sum of money for the British Heart Foundation, thanks to everyone that sponsored me.

Big smiles at the finish

I must add that I could not have completed this cycle without the support of my partner Gael, who provided endless amounts of encouragement and had complete faith that I could finish the ride. Not to mention putting up with my early Sunday morning training rides and providing excellent homemade fruitcake and flapjack to power me along.

The bike survived, spokes on the back wheel were alarmingly loose after the cycle but might not have been that tight before, and amazingly no punctures on the ride. During training I had two punctures due to thorns, once when I forgot to take a pump which was a bit of a nightmare, one snapped chain and that was it.

Training by month:
Jan 105 km

Feb 223 km
March 316km
April 286km
May 497 km
June 433 km
July 310 km before the 18th July
2170km in total prior to the big day

The bike - Scott Scale 935 - Carbon fibre frame. Fitted with a replacement Shimano HG93 chain, ESI foam grips and a SDG saddle. The standard forks only just did the job and have since been replaced with Rockshox Reba.

 

Beer Blog No.1 Here comes the sun (shine)

This is the first and hopefully not last blog written by me about beer that I have bought somewhere on my travels. This particular bottle of beer has been in my fridge since summer 2016 waiting for the right moment to be opened. This wintry January evening seemed like the right time for some Cornish sunshine, to bring back memories of summer walks along the beach,  camping next to the dunes and cooking dinner on the stove, so out came the bottle of Lushingtons Sunshine Pale Ale. But more importantly as a toast to my son, aged three and a quarter, who today mastered how to ride his bicycle, on his wee day out.

Bought from John's Off Licence in St. Ives it appeared to have kept very well, and the tasting notes on the bottle told me:

Bursting with fruit, within its bittersweet scent, you'll pick up lime and mangoes with a little lychee. And its creamy texture contains a strawberry finish. Enjoy with white meat, fish or a 99.

I wouldn't disagree with this, and I can report that the creamy strawberry finish also went very well with vegetarian sausages and mash.

 A fine beer indeed and from the community brewery of Skinner's in Cornwall, even endorsed by my non beer drinking partner.

Hebridean Adventure

Isle of Barra to the Butt of Lewis 1st July 2012

Part of the last minute preparations was to make sure there were no problems with the trains. Just as well I checked, the line to Oban was blocked by a landslide caused by the heavy summer rain. Scotrail couldn't tell  me when the line would re-open. Plan B; Aberdeen to Glasgow by train and then the bus to Oban, but I'd likely miss the Saturday sailing to Barra. I was still packing after midnight when it flashed up on my computer screen that the line was clear and trains would be running. 

Day 1:
Six hours later I was up again, the sun was shining, loaded up I was ready for the ride to Aberdeen railway station. I'd never taken a bike on a train before, just shows that life can still be full of new experiences, even at the age of 42 and I was quite excited with the prospect of being self contained on a bicycle for a week. After changing trains in Glasgow I was on my way to Oban, it's one of the great railway journeys in Scotland, passing along the shores of Gare Loch, Lochs Long and Lomond and later on Loch Awe with the haunting view of ruined Kilchurn castle.

The rain was coming down in sheets as the MV Clansman steamed into Oban harbour. A handful of other cycle tourers were waiting in the rain, hopefully this weather wasn't a sign of things to come.

The rain was still threatening when the ferry arrived at Castle Bay 4 1/2 hours later. In my haste to get to the camp site at Borve, I completely missed seeing the castle in the bay. I had to take the long way around the island to see it in the morning. I couldn't not see it, being the clan seat of the McNeils.  Castlebay was busy, it had been the Barrathon today, Barra's half marathon, unfortunately I'd arrived a day too late to compete...

Castle in the bay, how could you miss it....?

Day 2:

It was the long way round the island and a hard slog to the ferry terminal for the ferry to Eriskay but I made it with time to spare already wishing I could have stayed longer on Barra.  I'd like to have seen a plane take off from Barra airport located on a nearby sandy beach.

Across the sea to Eriskay, it was a short but hilly cycle over the island to the causeway to South Uist.  The island was surrounded by turquoise sea and with cotton wool clouds in the sky, I couldn't have asked for better weather.  

Causeway to South Uist, watch out for the otters!

Not wanting to make my life too hard I stopped for lunch at the Polochar Inn.  Fine baked haddock and in the interests of my continuing research into the delights of a particular Scottish dessert; a very delicious plate of sticky toffee pudding and ice cream.  Further along the road   I stopped at Howmore Hostel. It was quite early to stop and I hadn't cycled very far but my legs were feeling tired cycling into the wind. I stood outside the hostel pondering my next move when three German lads came out of the hostel and sat down at the table. Yes I would like to share your tea, scones and jam, thank you very much, and my mind was made up to stay. My tent was pitched beside the hostel.

I had to stop here, going back to 1996 when I was touring the Outer Hebrides by motorcycle; I had met a cyclist at this Hostel. He had given up his attempt to cycle the length of Outer Hebrides due to the weather being so bad. Instead he joined a working party helping to restore one of the hostel buildings. Since then it had always been on my mind to do this cycle. I forget his name now but he worked for the BBC in London, and I would like to thank him for the inspiration to buy a touring bicycle and do this trip.

Howmore River, South Uist

I'd thought a lot about wild camping, but being a lone cyclist it could have proved to be very lonely indeed. I was more interested in meeting people than surviving in the wild. Camping in the wild might be more fun with company but to me it was good to meet some other travellers and have the luxury of a shower at the end of the day. With this being my first proper cycle tour I wanted to enjoy it.

After a swim in the Atlantic Ocean and a hearty meal cooked up on my stove, I watched the sun dip below the clouds on the horizon out to sea. The island was bathed in a magical light , a beautiful end to the day.

Camping at Howmore Hostel

South Uist bathed in sunlight

Day 2:

I could have sent longer in the Uists as  I had a day to spare, but decided I'd prefer a spare day at the end of the week. Make progress whilst the weather was good.  Cycling North into a slight head wind across the many causeways linking up the islands was great.  The sun was shining and the views superb, the Cuillin mountains could be seen far away on the Isle of Skye.

Causeway, South Uist

Loch Olabhat, Benbecular, and the mountains of South Uist

The going wasn't so good on North Uist. An eight mile cycle from Clachan to Lochmaddy into a head wind that took well over an hour. The constant noise of the wind made my ears ring, earplugs would have been useful. The road unwound over an expanse of bleak moorland and disappeared into the distance, it was a real struggle to keep going.  I eventually arrived at the cafe in Lochmaddy with a slightly 'out of it' feeling from the exertion, sat and had tea and cake until I felt well enough to carry on to Berneray.

The road continued to Berneray where the ferry leaves for Harris. The ferry was leaving soon and there were a few cars obviously racing to make the last sailing of the day. Ignoring the cars that section of the road felt very isolated and remote with few signs of settlement. Stopping beside the road to look out to sea I could make out the islands of St. Kilda on the horizon, 40 miles away. Thinking I was by myself, except for the sheep, a seal popped its head out of the water to say hello.  I was aiming to camp next to the hostel on Berneray and get the ferry the next day so my cycle along this road was less rushed.

Tuesday night at Berneray Hostel, cooking my tea whilst speaking to some wind surfers from Edinburgh. There was no wind today at Berneray, they should have been at North Uist.   Their offer of a Hebridean ale was gladly taken and their hospitality appreciated.

Camping beside the sea on Berneray

I walked up the hill behind the hostel to get a mobile phone signal. Suddenly I was being dive bombed by the local bird population, obviously I was invading their territory, a territory devoid of people in this area. Abandoned houses are common, an old black house with furniture still inside, the decaying thatched roof ready to collapse. It looked like the inhabitants had just went out, closed the door but never returned. I wondered what stories this old house could tell.

Ruined black house, Berneray

Berneray Black house

Later a cycle touring gentleman from Germany arrived at the hostel. He had just cycled from Stornaway on an old Holdsworth touring bike. He lived in Oban and had cycled from there, a bin man whose taste for whisky was satisfied by our new windsurfing friends. Out came bottles of Ardbeg and Laphroig, a very pleasant evening indeed.  I could have stayed for a week on Berneray to soak up the peaceful ambiance and explore the beaches more, but the ferry was leaving for Harris and I had a butt to reach.

Day 3:
Cycling to the ferry terminal is was nice to sea some of the old black houses being renovated.  Even if they are used as holiday homes, at least they are brought back to life for future generations to appreciate.

The ferry steered a careful passage to Leverburgh on Harris, with many small islets and submerged rocks along the way.  Gannets dived into the sea, fishing for their lunch, as the ferry steamed past.  The mountains of Harris sat ominously in the distance, it would be a big push over them to Stornaway in a couple of days time.

I had chance to use the internet in Leverburgh.  E-mail confirmation of a new job in Aberdeen.  It would still be a couple of weeks before I would start so my mind started thinking if I could fit in another cycle tour.....

I chose the western route around Harris.  I wanted to see the beaches again.  Words can't really do them justice.  A nice down hill section of road with views to Scarasta beach and then coastline indented with beaches until the beaches of Seilibost and Luskentyre which are just fantastic, white sand and turquoise coloured sea, mountains all around, an artists delight and a lovely place to camp except I had to push on a little further.

Amazing beaches, Isle of Harris

Seilibost beach

There was little wind which was good as the road climbed from sea level to a hilly pass before descending into Tarbet.  I turned off the main road to follow a winding road to Drinishader and the Minch View campsite.  The rain had started along this last section and it was enough to give me a mild soaking before I got there.  A quiet camp site quite informal for a Caravan Club site, there was a Dutch couple staying, touring on electric bicycles.  Their batteries were charging in the kitchen, I wondered if the old lady warden was happy with this.

Loch with lilies, Isle of Harris

Day 4:

I stocked up with food in Tarbet, the local store was was an independent shop by the name of A.D. Munro. I was expecting a long hard day.  The mountains of Harris had been a talking point with all the cyclists I'd met.  A gentle climb out of Tarbet then back to sea level before the climb over the mountains.  The initial climb is quite steep and slow going, keeping it in the granny gear, but the gradient reduces towards the highest point of 189 metres.  Not such a big deal but it had put off most of the cyclists I had met so far.

Long climb on Harris, warm enough for just a tee-shirt today

Sitting by the road , I retrieved my supplies. Beautiful view out over Loch Seaforth and the little winding road over to the Rhenigidale Hostel. A visit there is for the committed cycle tourer, downhill to sea level and a big climb out the next day.  Back to my lunch, the oat cakes from A.D. Munro are the best I've tasted, four very large rough crumbly oat cakes to a packet, two with some tinned mackerel was a filling lunch.

Lunch with a view

At last the descent, a thrilling ride down to sea level, a slight head wind taking the edge off my top speed.  38 mph on a fully laden touring bike was exhilarating enough whilst being aware that with a momentary lapse of concentration could lead to a painful crash and the end of the tour.

Cycling though an idyllic forested area with a loch to the side of the road, the going was good and the road was traffic free.  Suddenly the peace was shattered as a motorcycle came from the opposite direction throttle pinned to the stop shattering the silence, the rider tucked in probably doing 150 mph plus.   I doubt if I showed up on his radar, the contrast of our speeds at opposite ends of the scale.  That could have been me some years back, now I'm happy with life in the slow lane taking in the scenery.

The Deer Raiders Memorial, Isle of Lewis

Further along the road I was running low on water. I stopped beside a house in Balallen to hear the sound of a weaver at work on a Harris Tweed loom.  He had guessed correctly why I had stopped and offered to fill up my water bottles before I could ask.  He was a jolly chap, the new looms are peddle powered like a bicycle and he found it very funny that he was peddling all day but going nowhere.

From Laxay it was another 10 miles to Stornaway, I was flagging a bit.  The first shop I'd seen since Tarbet was the petrol station at Leurbost.  The sign said 'Everything you need and more'.  Chilli chicken sandwiches and lemon sponge cake would be enough fuel to get me the last few miles into Stornaway.

It had been a big day for me, 43 miles and a lot of climbing.  After 5 nights under canvas I was glad to check into the bunkhouse at Laxdale Camp site.  A little luxury and a large steak washed down with some Hebridean ale for dinner.

Day 5:

The journey had been amazing so far, but could I make the final destination? I set off from Stornaway mid morning, with the goal of my trip to reach the Butt of Lewis, 27 miles away. I could have left my luggage and tent in Stornaway and returned later, but that would have felt like cheating. Crossing the island meant going up hill which was a struggle as my legs were hurting. It was steeper on the east meaning a long gradual descent into Barvas where I would make the decision to carry on to the Butt. I knew it was not important to me to go to the Butt, but that I'd regret it if I didn't. I thought that if I don't do it now I'll have to come back another time to do the complete journey.

Road to Barvas and a glimpse of the Atlantic Ocean

The weather had changed from sunshine in Stornaway to low cloud and mist with the wind blowing from the North.  From Barvas it was 17 miles into a head wind on rolling roads with no view, that would surely test my resolve. Character building I think they call it. I wanted to get there by lunch time so no stopping on the way. The mist grew lower the further North I went, with the head wind making me peddle hard up and down hill.

I even managed to miss the turning for the Butt... I'd almost arrived in 'down town' Port Ness before realising. An old man informed me the turn off was up the road at the junction with all the signs. Silly me they were all in Gaelic, which I didn't understand. On to the right road and it really began to have that end of the world feel that these far flung places seem to have. The same as the far west of Cornwall around Lands End. I think the mist and wind added to this feeling.

Striking a triumphant pose at the Butt of Lewis

The winding single track road led to the Light house at the Butt of Lewis, the top of the light house barely visible in the mist. I'd been here many years before on my motorbike with my friend Maff. That day there was a clear view of the mountains on mainland Scotland, today only the amazing old gnarled cliffs and the grey ocean. On an information board it claimed this was the windiest place in the whole of the UK with an entry in the Guinness Book of Records to prove it, I didn't doubt it. It wasn't a day to hang around and with the obligatory photo taken I cycled off with the slight feeling of an anti-climax, there wasn't a phone signal here, I couldn't even call anybody to say I'd made it.

Port Ness in the mist

Arriving in Port Ness my spirits were lifted. The amazing old harbour built around cliffs and rocky out crops, the turquoise sea and sandy bay made the ride North worthwhile, I was beginning to feel a sense of achievement. The wind still blowing from the North helped me back to Barvas almost blowing me to the top of the uphill sections, I stopped briefly at Steinacleit standing stones but without the surrounding view the atmosphere at the stones was not at its best. The wind was blowing spray off the nearby loch, it felt wild and stormy. With food for the evening bought from the store at Barvas I pressed on to the camp-site at Shawbost, on the west coast of Lewis. The sixth day of the trip was the longest at 54 miles. Not impressive by Tour de France standards but this was no race and I'm no cycle racer.

As camp-sites go Eilean Fraoich camp-site is definitely good one. Taking into consideration the possibilities of the weather, a camper’s kitchen and lounge are provided. A nice touch as it was still cold and misty. Five minutes later another cycle tourer arrived. Great company for the evening, swapping stories and discussing the advantages of cycle touring. I'd really come to the conclusion that travelling by bicycle could not really be bettered. Walking would be too slow, too much is missed in a car, ruled by time tables on the bus, a motorcycle is better but by bicycle, you can stop anywhere and still go everywhere. Travelling at 9 miles per hour, your perspective of the land and landscapes are changed.  Acceptance that the journey will take longer and should not be wished away.

Day 6:
The pressure was off now, I could enjoy being a cycle tourist, and a trip to Lewis would not have been complete without a visit to the Callanish Stones.  I've been to the stones several times before and they never fail to impress.  Laid out in the rough shape of a Celtic cross, the stones stand like giant sentinels forever frozen on the moorland.  Whatever time of day there seems to be a magical feeling around the stones.  Having plenty of time I visited the excellent visitors centre which has an exhibition on the history of the stones and took a walk to two nearby stones circles.

Callanish Stones

Callanish Stones

I hadn't really looked at the distance for the trip back to Stornaway but from Callanish I was left with and 18 mile cycle back to Stornaway.  The wind was blowing strongest now slowing me right down.  The road climbed high past the summit of Achmore and then turning North East directly into the wind for the single track road that lead to the Pentland road.  The view south was impressive, peat bog, lochs and the mountains of Harris in the distance.  I had no supplies with me now so there was it was Stornaway tonight or broke.

Day 7:
A lazy day today, waiting for the 2.30pm sailing from Stornaway to Ullapool.  Stornaway is a smallish town with a slightly wild west feeling about it.  The driving standards leave something to be desired.  With a limited police force and no speed cameras the speed limits seems to be ignored as I'd experienced cycling into Stornaway at rush hour a couple of days previous.  Seeing the odd 1970s Ford Capri added to the feeling.  None the less there is an arts centre and Museum well worth the visit.

Waiting obediently for the ferry

I love Ullapool but with only half an hour to spare there was just enough time for fish and chips from the Seaforth Inn.  I'd booked a bus from Ullapool to Inverness where I would meet up with my girlfriend Gael.  The bus service runs once a day from Inverness to Durness and back again with a trailer for bicycles courtesy of D&E Coaches.  My bike was the only one on the trailer.

Later at the Dores Inn on the shore of Loch Ness a pint or two was allowed as a celebration of my cycle, with my girlfriend Gael, who just happened to be visiting Inverness for the weekend.

Day 8:
The lunchtime train back to Aberdeen and the cycle home.  The cycle route is signposted from the station and I took a leisurely cycle along the streets of Aberdeen and onto the Old Deeside railway line to Peterculter.

The cycle had been a complete success.  The biggest factor with the success was the weather, it had been amazing.  The wind had not been too bad, it could have been much much worse and it had hardly rained, which was most unusual.  The Outer Hebrides was experiencing a drought during the summer of 2012.  This also had the effect of reducing the number of midgies which was appreciated when I was camping but not so good for the islanders who were facing water shortages.  My tent was fine for dry weather but it would have been difficult to cook if it had been raining.

My bicycle had gone the distance and had been the envy of several cycle tourists along the way.  More importantly my legs had gone the distance, roughly 250 miles in total.  The prevailing southerly winds were noticeable in their absence for the entire week making the cycle harder, but the wind had not been too bad, it could have been much much worse.

Cycle Touring

I want to ride my bicycle

It had always been on my mind to go cycle touring. I just really needed to go and do it, but firstly I had to buy a bike. I already had the idea for a cycle tour, to cycle the length of the Outer Hebrides.

After two years of working in Angola on a 4 week on four week off rotation I was ready for a change of job, but found it hard looking for work when I was at home on leave and was too busy to look when I was in Angola.

I was afraid to quit my job and sit at home doing nothing whilst I looked for work. In the winter time I could go snowboarding but what would I do with my time in the summer? Two days later I'd decided I should resign from my job and become a cycle tourist. With a 10 week notice period that would give me plenty of time to prepare, I'd didn't even have a touring bike nor any of the gear that would be required.

I settled on a bike from Paul Hewitt Cycles in Leyland. A traditional touring bike made from Reynolds steel tubing, with drop handle bars. I even got to choose the colour and was fitted up for the bike in the shop. It was a standard frame size but the components would be suited to me. Delivery was 4 to 5 weeks which would take up my last trip in Angola.

If this was a midlife crisis, it was a slightly less conventional one, I could have bought a sports car or motorbike. I'd recently sold my motorbike after years of it sitting unused. My travels had shown me that I'd been happiest on the road with my possessions in a backpack. Adding a bicycle into the equation could only add to the experience. I would be travelling in my own country over roads I'd already travelled so maybe less adventurous than my previous travels, but I'd never experienced them travelling at 10 miles an hour.

I read lots on cycle touring, peoples experiences of travels and the gear they used. Having faith in your gear is important so top quality Tubus racks and Ortlieb waterproof panniers were ordered. Definitely not the cheap option!

The excitement was building when I returned from Angola. When would the bike be ready...? Eventually the call came, the bike was ready. I would collect it from the shop, spending that amount of money to have it delivered didn't seem right. Roy at the bike shop was happier that I would collect it even though it involved a 650 mile round trip in the car.

It was pouring with rain when I collected the bike but I still took it for a ride along the street. It felt good, I felt like a kid on Christmas day. The quality of the bike was amazing with a deep shine to the metallic blue paint work, I knew it would never look this good again!!

I'd not owned a road bike since I was a teenager, mountain biking has been my thing since then which kept me reasonably fit . I needed to do some serious miles in preparation for the big cycle as there was only 3 weeks to go until the 1st July, the start of the Outer Hebrides cycle tour.

After a couple of longer cycles along Deeside I needed to try out the panniers and tent. Aberdeen to Braemar would be a suitable route, around 52 miles from my home. The longest unloaded cycle I had previously done was only 45 miles.

It took 6 1/2 hours to cycle to Braemar. I could drive the same distance in about an hour, but the combination of back roads, tracks and the disused Deeside railway line made it a great trip. One day National Cycle Route 195 will be complete from Aberdeen to Ballater, but for now using sections of the South Deeside Road keeps you away from the traffic. The sun shone on both days with many fantastic views especially Lochnagar towering above Deeside when passing by Ballater. On the return route towards the end I cycled over Corsedardar hill to Feughside to add a climb into the route and also for a piece of delicious carrot cake at Fizean Tearoom with a view across to Clachnaben. Yes indeed times have changed...where's the chilled bottle of beer? I'd have to wait until later for that.

I was encouraged by the success of the Braemar cycle, over 100 miles in two days and the bike had excelled.  I've travelled up and down Deeside many times but now I had a new perspective of the countryside having passed through at an average speed of just 10 mph.  With only five days to go until the Tour de Outer Hebrides, I was more confident of my abilities and looking forward to the trip. Now I just needed to pack my panniers....

Romancing the Stone

Colombia

In a discussion whilst having a beer or two, Tamara and I had been trying to decide if our travels in South America could be classed as an adventure or not. It turned out that neither of us actually knew the precise definition of what an adventure was and after a little research on the web found the following: An adventure is an activity that comprises risky, dangerous or uncertain experiences. If this was so, our travels had been one big adventure and Colombia was to be no different.

Leaving Quito on the bus on route for the Colombian Border I felt a little sadness. I was leaving the Northern boundary of the once great Inca Empire. Since arriving in Northern Argentina many months previous I'd travelled the length of the Inca Empire through Bolivia, Peru and Ecuador. Now different cultures and lands lay ahead.

The ease of travel never ceased to amaze me in South America. The journey from Quito to Pasto, in Colombia, could not have been easier. A bus to the border town of Tulcan, taxi to the border post, passport formalities, swap some Dollars for Pesos, taxi drivers fighting over me for the fare, taxi to the bus station in Ipiales and a share taxi to Pasto. I could have walked straight over the border without anybody noticing, but being an illegal immigrant in Colombia or anywhere in South America is not advisable. 8 hours after leaving Quito and a stress free journey I was checked into my hotel in Pasto.

Like cities in Ecuador, Pasto had a modern feel but with not many tourists around people did seem to stair at me, maybe I was needing a haircut or something.

The Only Risk is Not Wanting to Leave

In Southern Columbia government troops fight guerrilla troops in what is in fact a low level civil war. 30% of Colombia is controlled by guerrillas of different political persuasions. The politics have long been lost with drugs and kidnapping being the big issues now. Colombia supplies 80% of the worlds cocaine. Non of this was obvious on the streets of Pasto where they were gearing up for Santa Semana, or Holy week, a major religious festival in South America.

With 17,198 murders and 486 kidnappings reported in 2007, I wondered why I was visiting this country. However the kidnapping figure for 2004 was 1440, so the country is surely getting safer and security is improving. Colombia is opening up to travellers but now is the time to visit before the masses arrive and the prices go up.

For a much fuller in site into the current situation in Colombia, including drugs, click on the Reuters link to the right.

The journey from Pasto to Popayan was through some beautiful South American scenery, mountains, forest, canyons and a tiny road that wound it's way through. This road is not advised at night but the danger is the road itself not from bandits or paramilitaries. Sitting back in the luxury air conditioned bus the scenery played like a movie through the window.

Having just recovered from my bad stomach in Ecuador my immune system must have been shot because arriving in Popayan I was full of the cold. This laid me out for a few days but I found the energy to see some of the Santa Semana celebrations. A sombre affair with a 2 hour procession through the town with hundreds of men, women, children, brass bands and strange religious statues. Thousands lined the streets.

Only Happy When It Rains

High on the list of dodgy capital cities is Bogota, I was woken there by the bus driver after everyone else had gotten off, 3 hours before I thought I'd arrive. Luckily my bag was still waiting for me on the pavement. In a taxi speeding though the deserted streets, early morning, the city appeared cold and bleak. Across from the hostel a man was asleep on the pavement, This was the trendy Candelaria district, safer but definitely not safe.

I met up with Tamara here again, and with her now suffering the same cold as me we decided we should head for warmer climes as soon as possible. Bogota was cold and wet. To add to the feel of unease it was the end of Santa Semana and the weekend, the streets were eerily quiet in the evening.

On Monday the streets were full of people again, the sun was shining but our health still poor, we visited the gold museum downtown. A fabulous collection of pre-Hispanic artifacts some from the 'Lost City' where we hoped to visit.

Our escape from Bogota was aided by a friendly policeman at the bus station, an 18 year old doing his national service. He accompanied us to buy our tickets and waited for us to board the bus telling us he was there for our safety. I think Tamara wanted to take him with her.

Our bus drivers for this 22 hour journey to Cartagena were Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum. Two very fat jolly men, laughing and joking, talking and texting on their phones whilst overtaking at night and buying all the food from the hawkers when the bus stopped. We had the front seats unfortunately. On South American buses it's best not to see what's going on on the road.

Here Comes The Sun

The city of Cartagena had become an objective of this trip soon after arriving in South America. The port city on the Caribbean coast with a lovely old town surrounded by impressive defensive walls. In 10 years time mass tourism may have spoilt this city. Go now. Beautiful old colonial buildings and squares, some really good bars including the Whisky Bar run by old black dudes playing cool tunes. I celebrated my birthday in Cartagena, top quality steak and Argentinian red wine.

Four hours from Cartagena was Taganga our next destination on the Caribbean coast, near the city of Santa Marta. A mini bus winds it's way through the shanty town at the edge of Santa Marta and over the hills to Taganga only 5km away. Another travellers' hang out, I'd seen nicer but it had a cool vibe on the street.

A Colombian Tourist brochure had on the cover 'Colombia, the only risk is not wanting to leave'. Seeing military police with machine guns walk in formation down a street near the centre of Santo Marta in the evening suggested there were bigger risks than this. Numerous army checkpoints along the roads.

Kids with Guns

We had sat and watched many people walk along the path that links Taganga with the nearby beach of Playa Grande and double checked with the hotel receptionist it was the right way to go. Setting off just after lunch time we walked along the rocky cliff path. Rounding a corner on the path we greeted a group of young lads. In a scene that I'd played out in my head many times one of them pulls out a gun, the rest had broken bottles. They took our bags which had our cameras and a small quantity of money but left us unharmed. This was a pretty scary experience, probably the scariest situation in my life so far. Abandoning plans for the beach we went to the police station to report the crime. It was a Sunday and the police were fairly unconcerned until we said it was armed robbery. We still had to go to Santa Marta the following day to get a report for insurance claims. The loss of another camera explaining the lack of photos on this blog, luckily for us they never found El Corazon.

More danger back at the hotel, a scorpion scurried across the bathroom floor. At least we could deal with that.

It took up all of the next day finding the right police station to go to, queuing and finally reporting what had happened to a very sympathetic Colombian police woman. She wasn't surprised, blaming it on Colombia's terrible social problems. Robbery at knife or gunpoint is an all to common occurrence for the people of Colombia. The waiting room had been full of people with some badly bruised and scarred women. This was not the way Tamara had planned to spend her birthday.

In indication of the poverty and unfair distribution of wealth could be seen on the main street of Santa Marta, the driver of a donkey and cart vying for space with cars and buses.

In the foot steps of Indy, to the The Lost City

The Lost City (Ciudad Perdida) had been known to the Indigenous people in the area long before it was discovered by grave robbers in 1975. They know it as Teyuna. The trip to the lost city was to be the last big adventure of mine and Tamara´s at the end of our South American travels. A 6 day trip into the jungle considered as moderately difficult. The British Foreign Office does not regard this trip as safe due to guerrilla activity in this area and because 8 foreign tourists were kidnapped at the Lost City in 2003. There were rumours that this was a publicity stunt by the guerrillas to highlight human rights abuses by the Colombian Government and the tourists had agreed to the kidnapping before hand. They were released 3 months later unharmed. The Lost City is located deep in the Jungle in the North of Columbia and was inhabited from 800 A.D. to 1600 A.D. It was never discovered by the Spanish Conquistadors and may have housed between 2000 and 8000 people.

Day 1 we get picked up from our hostel and taken to Santa Marta to meet the other members of our group. A mix of Argentinian, French, German, Basque Spanish, English and as usual, me the sole representative of Scotland.

We set off in the old Toyota Landcruiser converted into a bus with 3 rows of open seats, passing by Tayrona National park, finally to the turn off for the Lost City and an army checkpoint. The group list was passed over to a soldier and our names were called out, a bit like being back at school. All present we were let through and bumped our way along a little jungle track for nearly 2 hours. Now further inland we were missing the sea breeze, it was hot and humid, just like the jungle should be.


Sweating buckets on the small track, swimming in the river, climbing up then down we pass a group of friendly soldiers all too keen to pose with us for photos with their guns. We reached the first camp as darkness was falling, soon to be asleep in our hammocks.

Day 2 we awoke early in a beautiful setting. A small valley surrounded by jungle with a small river leading to a waterfall. We set off early for the next part of the trek, today passing Indigenous villages. We stop to visit one, I´m never really sure about this, it feels a bit like visiting a human zoo. I wonder what benefit the people get.

These people live very simple lives, living entirely off the land they have no need for money. The government had tried to set up a school here but nobody wanted to go so it closed down. In their world they have no need to read or write. They are tiny in physical size compared to us, wear white dresses and had long black hair. We saw them regularly along the trail. They looked at us in a slightly bemused way but we felt that they were somehow looking out for us along the trek. Our second night was in bunk beds in a shed just up from an army camp.

Day 3 we were up early again and set off along the treacherous path above the river. In the distance we could here gun shot. Fighting or target practice we didn´t know. The guide told us there were no guerrillas in the area but also that all the soldiers along the track were for our protection. Protection from what exactly we were not sure.

The track got progressively worse and wound it´s way along a river bed and across the river no less than 7 times until we reached the foot of the stairs to the lost city. Steep small and slippery with moss, there were 2000 of them to climb.



We walked through the city as the rain began to fall and the mist come in. After lunch we retired to our tent on the top floor of the shack to try to get warm. It felt as cold as a November afternoon in Aberdeen.

Day 4 had a more relaxed start with a tour around the city. Only the foundations remain, the buildings having been made out of wood. The area the grave robbers had been interested in was the ceremonial areas where many gold artifacts were buried. The ones missed by the grave robbers were stolen by dishonest archaeologists and anthropologists. Some are now displayed in the Gold Museum in Bogota. The site doesn't have the visual impact of say Machu Pichu or Angkor Wat, but it's definitely worth the effort to get there. An incredibly remote and idyllic setting in the jungle.

Having safely negotiated the slippery stairway down to the river we retraced our steps down the river valley. After the 2nd river crossing Tamara slipped and fell with a thud on the rocks and half in the river. There was a look of pain on her face. We helped her up and she found she could put no weight on her left leg. Her knee had been twisted. We reassured her it would all be okay but stuck in this remote jungle what would we do? There was an indigenous village across the river and a man was sent for the jungle ambulance. Mean while Tamara would have to be carried by the porters until the path was suitable for the mule. The porters were strong, I could hardly keep up when they were carrying her on their backs and the terrain was really demanding. There was a slight look of relief on Tamara´s face as she saw the mule arrive, it would make things a lot easier. We made it back to the camp as light was falling.

Day 5 we walked out of the jungle so Tamara could get to a doctor quicker. She still couldn't put any weight on her leg. Not the ideal way to finish the trek but at least we were both out in one piece. Where I had to continually look at where my feet were going Tamara could look at the scenery on the back of the horse. The trip had been great but the guide was an idiot. He confirmed this by getting drunk very quickly in the bus on the way back to Santa Marta and falling out with the driver and porters and generally annoying everybody.

Back in Taganga

With one week left until we both flew back home we took the opportunity to relax beside the beach. Tamara had no option with her twisted knee.



We checked into the best hotel on the beach ate, drank, sat back, relaxed and contemplated the previous 7 months of our travels in South America. An incredible time, an incredible adventure.

Returning to Bogota for our flights home we were both a little paranoid about being robbed again. Being careful using the banks and not carrying our passports. Yeah Colombia, not for the faint hearted!

The End

So that's end of Brainzworld for just now. Two years of epic travels through twenty countries across five continents. From snowboarding the Southern Alps and modern culture to ancient and lost civilisations, it's been a journey of discovery, learning and freedom. Two very good years of my life. But it's back to the world of working for me now. More adventures in the future.....? Damn right!!!

An Evolutionary Experience

The Galapagos Isles

I'd been thinking about a trip to the Galapagos Isles for a while. By the time I reached Quito I'd had my arm twisted by Tamara and made the decision to go. With the current financial crisis, there were lots of last minute deals available and Dave from EOS Ecuador travel found us a cruise on the yacht Angelito I. We chose a five day cruise which would take us on a journey of discovery around the islands to the North.

Situated in the Pacific Ocean around 1,000 km from the the coast of Ecuador, the 19 islands of the Galapagos and the surrounding marine reserve have been called a unique ‘living museum and showcase of evolution’. With three ocean currents converging, the Galapagos are a ‘melting pot’ of marine species. Ongoing seismic and volcanic activity reflects the processes that formed the islands. These processes, together with the extreme isolation of the islands, led to the development of unusual animal life such as the land iguana, the giant tortoise and the many types of finch that inspired Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution by natural selection following his visit in 1835.

The Galapagos Islands were declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1978. In June 2007 they were placed on UNESCO's List of World Heritage in Danger. This was due to the growing encroachment of invasive species, increasing human immigration, uncontrolled development of tourism, and the failure of various institutions and agencies to deal with these threats.

Invasive species are the greatest direct threat to the unique ecosystems of the Galapagos. People began introducing goats, pigs and cattle to the islands when they were first settled in the early 19th century. These, along with other domestic animals such as cats and dogs, have established wild populations and prey on, or compete aggressively with local species, driving some of them to extinction.


Today, a growing number of introduced plant and insect species, along with micro-organisms which cause disease, pose an increasing risk to Galapagos biodiversity, driving up the cost of managing them by eradication or permanent control. Increasing tourism and population growth in the Galapagos have been closely linked to the difficulty of keeping introduced species out of the islands.

Prince Charles and Camilla recently visited the islands to highlight the problems that exist there. A newspaper cartoon joked about his visit with the caption that no matter how many times he visits no action is taken.

Keeping the environment in mind we arrive early in the morning for the flight from Quito to the Galapagos, landing on the island of Baltra. With the US$100 park entrance fee paid our voyage of discovery would take us to the islands of Seymour Norte, Sombrero Chino, Bartolome, Genovesa, Santiago, Rabida and finally to Puerto Ayora on Santa Cruz.

A short cruise took us to Seymour Norte where we landed and took a walk around the island. The first thing that is immediately apparent is that the wildlife pays absolutely no attention to humans. They do not see humans as a threat. Unwittingly we had also arrived in the islands at one of the best times of the year, the mating season.


The blue footed boobies moved from foot to foot displaying their wings. The frigate birds puffed up their bright red throat pouch like a balloon and make mooing sounds to the females flying above. Meanwhile the sea lions laid on the beach paying no one any attention.


The next morning we board the landing craft before 8am for our visit to Sombrero Chino Island or China Hat. Crystal clear turquoise water with penguins on the lava crusted shore and sea lions on the beach.

Brightly coloured sally lightfoot crabs on the beach appeared to be quite shy and would scurry away quickly. Lava lizards and iguanas basked in the sunshine.

Without a cloud in the sky the temperatures were soaring, so it was back to the boat to get ready for some snorkeling. Warm clear water teaming with life, all sorts of colourful fish like Moorish Idols and Mexican Hogfish. An underwater camera might be a good idea but sometimes it's best not to look at everything through a lens.

Back on the boat it was time for lunch and then we were steaming for Bartolome Island. Frigate birds flew just above the boat's mast for much of the way.

From the beach to the south we could see black tipped reef sharks and on the beach tracks where turtles had climbed up to lay their eggs. Later when snorkeling on the north Beach we came very close to Galapagos sharks. Quite alarming to see in the water but not dangerous.

We climb up to the summit of an extinct volcano for a fantastic view over the island and the beaches.

After dinner the the crew raised the anchor and set sail for Genovesa Island, in the far North West of the archipelago. The rainy season runs from January to April which means calmer seas and warmer water, ideal for our needs. Rainy season? There wasn't a cloud in the sky but even so there was still a tint of green to the volcanic islands.

6am on he open top deck of the boat and Darwin Bay, Genovesa Island, the sun was just coming up on the tranquil surroundings.

It's always good to see boobies first thing in the morning and it was no exception with the Red Footed and Nazca varieties that were waiting for us near the beach where we landed.

As the day heated up we snorkeled again looking for Hammerhead sharks but unfortunately they were all hunting elsewhere. However snorkeling in the deep water next to the cliffs was an amazing experience.

Back on the island again later in the day, as the sun was going down, the Short- eared owl made an appearance. Coming out of it's nest in the lava to see what all the fuss was about.

The boat slipped out of Darwin Bay under cover of darkness on route for Santiago Island. A peaceful journey sitting out on deck looking at the sky with millions of stars in the darkness and the Milky Way visible from one horizon to the other.

Early mornings were a feature of this trip so it was no surprise to be on the beach at James Bay before my hearty breakfast had time to settle. Walking along the old lava flows that make up the shore line it was hard not to miss the marine iguanas sitting out in the sun warming up.

The snorkeling at James Bay was awesome, with sightings of a Manta Ray and schools of thousands of fish. Pelicans bobbing up and down in the water next to us. In flight they are pre-historic looking and with out too much imagination almost like a pterodactyl.

A brief stop at the Island of Rabida where we were luck to see a Galapagos Hawk and when snorkeling a sea lion swam past. Then another voyage across the ocean to to Santa Cruz Island.

The boat moored at Puerto Ayora, on the final night aboard, a sizable town of 2000 inhabitants. This meant beers ashore!

With sadness we left the boat for the last time to go ashore and visit the Charles Darwin Centre. Home to some Giant Tortoises and complete with a successful breeding program. Maybe 200,000 of these amazing creatures used to live in the Galapagos Islands having evolved into 14 sub-species. Now there are between 15,000 and 17,000. Sailors used to keep them for fresh meet on their boats, with them surviving for months being upturned on their backs.

11 subspecies survive now and this may soon be down to 10 if a mate for Lonesome George is not found. He is the last known tortoise of his sub-species and so far mating with other tortoises with a similar DNA has proved unsuccessful.

A break from the wildlife and a trip out of town to visit some lava tunnels. A series of tunnels 5 to 6 metres in diameter where lava once flowed from the volcano above. We visited this site independently and soon realized this was not where the tours would go. We signed in at the entrance and were given a key for the gate at the other end. The tunnels were pretty unusual and in numerous places the ceiling of the tunnel had collapsed with piles of rock blocking the path. We wondered just how often this happened and how many tourists have perished beneath the rocks...

Escaping unscathed, except for Tamara whose (all terrain) flip flop broke mid tunnel, we went to see more Tortoises at the El Chato Reserve. Walking through woodland seeing these mighty beasts in their natural habitat was one of the most memorable times of the trip. I had thought the reserve was enclosed but we get to the edge of the reserve and the tortoises were free to come and go. These were the only animals that didn't appear to like our presence. So not to alarm them it was good to keep a distance as they would make a hissing sound if we were too close. Evolution has taught them not to trust humans.

We made it to Turtle bay by late afternoon and swam in the sea and sat in the sun. The end of a trip of a life time (within the trip of a lifetime).