Distance: 65.39 miles

Time: 6:27

Elevation: 4200 feet

I awoke early, unsure if it was the cold, or the fear of today’s elevation profile that caused it. The campsite was already a hive of activity, with another two cyclists packing up for the final day of their soon-to-be-aborted North Coast 500 attempt, nearby.

Setting off at 8:45, the day started with an easy mile along the coast, before climbing steeply to meet the main road. The climb hit a 10% gradient for the last few hundred metres, and was made all the harder by the car crawling along behind me on the narrow single-track road.

As I approached the junction with the main road, the two NC500 ladies whizzed passed up above, soon to turn inland and head for the train. Back on the main road, I kept climbing at a more reasonable rate, and was pleasantly surprised when it topped out at a not-so-lofty 120m, with some free yards on the flat before the descent ensued.

Down into Coldbackie I went, and as I rolled to a stop, about to put my foot down for my next photo opportunity, the wind nudged me gently the other way. I had plenty of time to scope out my landing, but insufficient time to unclip my foot, before tumbling sidewards onto the tarmac. I’d cycled all the way from Cornwall to the North Coast of Scotland, and then ended up in a heap on the road 2 miles later. Luckily traffic was light on this particular section of the North Coast 500 at this time in the morning.

Feeling like a Tour De France rider, I dusted myself down and tried to ascertain whether there was any lasting damage. I’d banged my knee, but though it was painful to walk, mercifully, it didn’t seem to hamper my pedalling, probably for the best with 60 miles still to go until John o’ Groats.

The last climb over to Bettyhill offered a sting in the tail as the road ramped up to 10%, while passing Borgie Forest, and dragged on for almost a mile, up to over 150m elevation.

Reaching Bettyhill, after a very lumpy 12 miles, I looked out over the bay and remembered the German cyclists in Taliouine, Morocco, who spoke of this place in my homeland of which I’d never heard. This is where their journey had terminated but mine still had a few miles to go.

Keen to see how the NC500 was affecting development in this part of the world, I popped into the dated Post Office / Convenience Store, stopped by the ancient toilets, and checked out the dilapidated campsite; which was populated by a few aged static caravans and Google reviews tells me had a toilet block so unhygienic it had recently been demolished. It does look like they’re building a new road, however.

The next hill was the worst, not necessarily because of the gradient, but because of the road surface. A protective layer of stones had been glued on top of the asphalt, and was creating so much rolling resistance that I kept checking my back wheel for punctures. Up ahead, I saw a slow-moving figure labouring up the hill. Quickly making up the ground, I encountered a Spanish girl on a heavily laden bike. She had masses of kit on the bike which would have been bad enough, but the bike itself looked like the sort you’d find in the bargain aisle in a supermarket. All things considered, she was doing remarkably well getting up these hills at all. She too was doing Land’s End to John o’ Groats, except that she’d started in London, in May.

Turning inland, near the stain on the landscape of the decommissioned Dounreay Nuclear Power Station, a short climb led to miles of flat roads over open hillside. I thought I was dreaming, perhaps this day wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Stopping at a cafe in Thurso for lunch, I came across a couple of fellow End to Enders at the end of their penultimate day. They had also avoided the canal paths, and had spoken to someone else who’d had to keep making trips to the Jetwash after attempting those parts of the route. I felt partially vindicated in thinking that dirt paths and gravel shouldn’t feature on a ride suitable for road bikes.

Leaving Thurso, it was 20 miles to go, I climbed back into the hinterland, finding some long and improbably straight roads, before dipping back down to the coast at Castlehill.

A final foray back inland took me far into the distance with thick cloud obscuring the coast. I took a left to Canisbay, and jumped back onto the main road for the final few miles to my finish line, the far north-eastern tip of Great Britain, John o’ Groats. It had been 1035 miles from Land’s End, 18 days, and miraculously only two days of rain. In deciding to cycle the length of Great Britain, I had been prepared for the worst, and had received the best, I had really been very lucky.

After a long journey of their own, my parents were there to celebrate the moment, and to take me and my bike home. No trains this time. They also had the privilege of being my impromptu media team, when some motorcyclists graciously offered us the chance to take some photos with the John o’ Groats signpost, after one of them pointed out that I’d probably worked harder to get there than they had.

On the way home we enjoyed a pleasant evening with friends in Helmsdale, before taking the circuitous route home through the Great Glen and Glencoe, on another glorious day. And I couldn’t help thinking, that as much as I love to travel and explore the world when I can, it really is pretty great at home.

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