Distance: 69.07 miles

Time: 6:56

Elevation: 3113 feet

After an enjoyable breakfast in the Station Hotel, the road started as I hoped it wouldn’t go on, with a 12 mile climb up ‘The Struie’. The gradient was kind, and at 250m the views out over the Dornoch Firth were worth the toil.

On the descent, I stopped to take photos and got talking to a few people from a coach tour – who were on a cruise to Orkney – they liked the sound of my trip and deliberated whether they could do it on their electric bikes.

Plunging down to Ardgay, on the Dornoch Firth, the route led me past the Falls of Shin. Stopping at the falls, there was great excitement, as the Salmon were leaping up the river. I was lucky enough to see two during my short spell there.

Stopping in Lairg after a long tough morning, and 30 miles, I made for the Pier Cafe, feasting on an open ciabatta layered with black pudding, avocado, halloumi and bacon, drizzled with a sriracha mayo. I spoke to two cycle tourists on the way out, they had been on a similar length trip to mine, but had dotted about the north of Scotland, and popped over to the Outer Hebrides. It sounded lovely, but had they stayed in a Travelodge in Warrington, you have to ask?

After lunch, I settled in for the afternoon. It was 36 miles to Tongue, and the couple at lunch, had said that it was a good combination of flat with rolling hills. Unfortunately, that didn’t factor in the headwind; as soon as I set out across the endless miles of open moorland, I felt the force of the 12 mph block headwind, and then the rolling hills began to trend upwards and by the time I was passing the Crask Inn it was a fully fledged climb, back over 250m once more.

A nice descent followed, with ample opportunity to survey Ben Klibreck’s route options for my future Munro attempt. Then I passed the desecrated remains of a hill-side commandeered for a future wind farm project.

Through Altnaharra, a stiff climb ensued, and it was tough going, thanks to the recently returning sunshine, the headwind and the quality of the road. For every pedal stroke I made, it felt like I was moving mere inches.

Passing Loch Loyal, under the eastern flank of Ben Loyal, the plateau was flattening off and I was sure it would be starting downwards to the coast very soon. But then the road turned a corner and upwards it went, clambering up to 200 metres round the shoulder of the hill.

Only then did I get what I’d wanted, almost 70 miles of struggle and persistence, had led me to the prospect of it being all down hill to the sea.

I rattled down the steep lanes of Tongue, arriving at the Hostel and Campsite at 19:53, just 7 minutes to spare before the reception was to shut. Luckily the camping areas were plentiful, and have fantastic views over the Kyle of Tongue. And for now, this is the farthest North on Mainland Scotland, I’ve ever been.

Distance: 75.06 miles

Time: 6:45

Elevation: 3266 feet

Today was a day to put tourist-mode to one side and engage cyclist-mode I told myself. Then I trundled out of Kingussie and was immediately confronted with a fantastic perspective of the Ruthven Barracks. Queue photographer-mode, and that trumps all.

The route took the high road, across the Tromie and the Feshie, passed the forest of Inshriach, the Spey running through the glen below. Looking out over the flat lands of this high plateau, I was sure I could detect a hint of Autumn in the leaves.

Emerging into Aviemore, from the Rothiemurchus Estate, I spent an age deliberating where to have lunch, and in the end I didn’t go anywhere at all, picking up a few things at the Co’op on the way out the other side.

Next up, on the photographic tour of the Highlands was Carr Bridge, and really, how could I say no?

But now it was approaching 3 o’clock, and I’d still only covered just over 20 miles for the day, and next on the agenda was the climb over the Sloch’d Pass, at 400 metres, but the gradient was kind, and the weather was fair, as I gradually crept up the old road towards the summit, where old road, new road and railway line meet briefly in the passing.

The descent was joyous, and soon I found myself in Inverness, with a conundrum of sorts, of where to spend the night. So I went to the place where my plans form in haste, and yes I mean Burger King.

Ideally I would end the night in Alness, some 26 miles further on, but the campsite in Alness wasn’t taking tents this year because of Covid, so I started looking at options in Dingwall, before deciding that the 10 fewer miles to there would seriously hamper my plans to get to John O’Groats in two days. Luckily there was one room available at the Station Hotel in Alness, so I quickly booked it and got on my way. It was already 6 o’clock and now I had 26 miles to go.

Over the Kessock Bridge I went, and then across the Black Isle on the route 1 cycleway. Reaching Dingwall, the route took a fiendish turn as it climbed up to Old Evanton road, a mile long climb, with a 10% introduction. But when I was up I was up, and the views were really quite special, back to Dingwall and forwards to the Cromarty Bridge.

Arriving at half 8, I was in a house across the road from the hotel, and they had a lock-up out the back for the bike. There was a Chinese Takeaway a few metres along the road, so that sorted dinner, and when that was done, I popped across to the hotel bar – just as last orders were being called – and allowed myself one for the road. Tomorrow’s road, that is, through the empty heart of Sutherland.

Distance: 61.36 miles

Time: 6:30

Elevation: 2807 feet

I started the day by pedalling the half mile back into Dunkeld for breakfast, getting plenty of time to realise how attractive a historic town it was as I struggled to find anywhere for breakfast.

Ending up at a deli on the Main Street, I took my spoils to a bench by the river. Quickly polishing off a chorizo and goats cheese baguette, I turned to the pain au chocolat and pasteis de nata, I’d bought for later. Still hungry, it called for drastic action, so I ripped open a bag of Crispy M&Ms to see me through the 14 miles until Pitlochry.

Keeping to quiet roads, and old traces of the A9, I ducked and wove beside the new A9, before crossing it at Logierait, and one steep switchback led me to miles of tree-lined solitude.

Emerging just west of Pitlochry, I happened upon the Port-na-Craig Inn, with its fine river-side aspect, enjoying a burger in the, thankfully, shaded beer garden.

Through bustling Pitlochry I went, then onwards and upwards, over the Pass of Killiecrankie, then onwards again to Blair Atholl. On my approach, I was passed by 20 or more horse boxes, and then a sign for the Blair Atholl Estate International Horse Trials gave a clue. Thinking it must have finished and that I’d seen most of the horses leaving, I couldn’t believe it when I passed the estate and saw a field of horse boxes as far as the eye could see.

The House of Bruar was next on the A9 road-trippers itinerary, and it seemed like a good place for an ice cream. Typically House of Bruar, their range of ice creams were exclusively created by local ice cream heavyweight Mackie’s, with one customer moaning that she could have just taken a tub of vanilla out of the freezer. I chatted to a couple on a day out from Cupar, the man’s Dad had cycled the A9 in the 50s, perhaps when it had a few less cars on it.

Back on the trail, on a pristine bike path, a disclaimer was required, for what was to follow. And what was to follow, but a 20 mile foray over the Drumochter Pass, peaking at 462 metres.

Tracking the River Garry, the path climbed slowly but surely, up through the trees, and up again onto a high plateau, the ascent ever more gradual. The sun had been lost to cloud and the breeze had become a gale as I battled on upwards to the top of the pass.

Joining the road, to crest the summit, I took satisfaction from knowing that this was the highest point of the whole Land’s End to John o’Groats route.

Over the top, the landmarks became more frequent, passing the Balsporran Cottages, from where Munros have been climbed, to Dalwhinnie where my Dad’s favourite whisky is crafted, to Crubenmore Lodge, where my brother’s stag do was held, and on to Newtonmore, where family holidays were spent.

Reaching Kingussie, 60 miles in, and back at a slightly less hostile altitude of 250 metres, I looked for somewhere to stay, and came across a very basic camping field down by a stables. Accommodation booked, I dined in the chippy, before rolling down past the station and into the field. When I started to set up, it felt like there was a little rain in the air, but surely not, not this week…

Distance: 51.73 miles

Time: 4:44

Elevation: 2846 feet

It had been a thoroughly successful overnight at home, my clothes were washed, batteries recharged, kit repacked – with a few items less than before – and furthermore I’d managed to put a new chain and brake pads on the bike. I’d also enjoyed my Lamb Biryani, and managed to watch a film I’d worked on – The Road Dance – through the Edinburgh Film Festival streaming service.

Inevitably all of this took time, so I wasn’t too surprised that it was almost 3 in the afternoon before I was back on the road. I had planned accordingly, however, and although I had been hoping to get about 50 miles to Dunkeld, I was aware that there was a campsite at Scone, and as that was only 30 miles away, it might be more attainable.

I headed north on Pitdinnie Road, making it a matter of personal pride that I should get up the short steep section on the way to the cycle path. Once there, there was a lady from Sustrans interviewing people about the quality of the bike path, but as she already had a couple of victims, I carried on by.

Skirting passed Dunfermline, I continued over Cleish Hill, at 290 metres, one of my favourite climbs in the area, when I’m not carrying panniers. It was another glorious day and the view north towards Kinross and Loch Leven was superb as I flew down the sweeping single-track descent.

Carrying on towards Kinross on quiet country roads, I passed the spot where my friend Neil and I had seen professional cyclist Lizzie Deignan riding a single-speed bike on the Edinburgh to St Andrews charity ride. These roads were so familiar, and yet, now I was enjoying them as a stand out part of a ride running the whole length of Great Britain.

Through Kinross where a Beer Festival looked appealing, I turned onto the Argask and Dron cycle route, on quiet roads, never too far from the M90. Passed Glenfarg, the route veered uphill and two cycle tourists flew passed me heading South.

Aware that the Motorway crested a pass around here, I wasn’t surprised to find myself dropping sharply to cross over the M90 once more, and then came a thunderous 12% percent descent over the edge.

A short climb to Perth followed, then, while passing the Ice Factory night club, a brief chat with a cyclist on his way to Comrie for the weekend ensued. Afterwards, I was expecting to cross over the Tay and head round by Scone, but the route hugged the west bank of the river on an excellent bike path, passing the North Inch park and golf course and continuing for miles through parkland and forest. Eventually, the path followed the course of the Almond river, upstream all the way to Almondbank, where I realised that I was already way past Scone, and would now, definitely, be heading for Dunkeld, now only 14 miles away.

Off the beaten track I went, through the picturesque little haven of Pitcairngreen, where I promised myself I would return for a beer one day, and then to Bankfoot, no longer just a name on a sign, but where I picked up a Double Caramel Magnum at almost 8 o’clock on a sunny Saturday on my way round by ‘Waterloo’ to Dunkeld, another place that, speeding passed on the A9 had stopped me from getting to know; well it was now where I’d be going for breakfast.

Arriving at the Inver Mill campsite, it was now quarter to 9, and as I approached I was a little concerned to see how busy it was. But, the friendly ladies at reception got me to jot down my details, while one of them went to seek out a spot for me, as she said, ‘we always try to fit in a cyclist’, and that was something of which I had to approve.