OK so that was a slightly longer sabbatical than I was intending. But motivation levels to write this final instalment have been decreasing by the day: firstly, because most of you already know the outcome (in case you missed it: we only went and bloody did it!), and secondly, because I’ve been sat on a beach for the past week, beer in hand. It’s all about priorities. (more…)

Sometimes a picture says more than a thousand words. Well done chaps, cracking effort! More to follow later, blog fans – the pub is calling!

The Highlands. Argyle and Bute. East and South Ayrshire. Galloway and Dumfries. Cumbria. Lancashire. Warrington. Cheshire. Shropshire. Herefordshire. Powys and Monmouthshire. Gloucestershire. South Gloucestershire. Bristol. Somerset. Devon.

And so to Cornwall. (more…)

To all those who told us the final part of our journey would be the toughest, I have just one thing to say: you were right. This morning was brutal. Brutal. Devon, your reputation as one half of the JOGLEr’s worst nightmare is fully justified. (more…)

Well, it’s official: having a half-day off the bikes worked! After struggling with fatigue and various niggles all the way down the English-Welsh border, we awoke this morning feeling totally refreshed. Whether it was the shorter mileage of the previous day, or the mental lift we got from seeing our friends and family in the evening, we all had a spring in our step as we met first thing this morning. It was like someone had hit the reset button. (more…)

A short day, so a short write-up. Sorry, blog fans!

Our heroic efforts over the previous two days meant we only had 40 miles to do today, leaving us plenty of time to catch up with friends and family -and get some much-needed time off the bikes – back home in Bristol.

After someone had blocked up the toilet in the ensuite (I’m not going to mention any names, other than to say it wasn’t me. Or Bailey), we made a pretty sharp exit from our B&B in Monmouth, heading off down the A466 towards Chepstow. The road wound it’s way down the Wye valley, hugging the river and providing some pretty scenic views of the border country. More importantly, at long last, we finally bumped into some fellow JOGLErs.

Clearly, JOGLErs are like buses; having gone over 800 miles without seeing any since leaving John O’Groats, we saw three separate groups within 500 metres of each other as we passed by the beautiful abbey at Tintern. Clearly this road is a bit of a pinch point, with everyone making for the Severn bridge via the same route. It was fun catching up and swapping stories – one group (admittedly traveling sans panniers as they had a support van, and following a much shorter route) had covered the distance in just seven days, including a mammoth 230km in a single day stint between Altrincham and Hereford. Most impressive, although I think I prefer our more leisurely approach! Another group, much to our delight, had passed through the infamous Trough of Bowland and survived to tell the tale (see yesterday’s blog for an explanation).

Having picked each other’s brains for route ideas, we once more went our separate ways and headed for the bridge. It now really felt like we were back on familiar territory – Geoff and I had cycled this route a couple of times in training – and despite the fact that we were all flagging as the cumulative effect of 12 days cycling really kicked in, the thought of catching up with loved ones was driving us on and we made one last push for home.

It was strange riding down familiar roads again; I think we all felt oddly displaced, having seen so much and covered so much ground over the past fortnight. But it was fantastic to see Ginny and the kids again, and to catch up with all our friends at the Foresters in the evening – all three of us were pretty overwhelmed by the support and encouraging words everyone had for us, as well as by their very generous donations to the Pete & Mary Trust. As much as anything else, I think it did us good to have other people to talk to, if only for a night! Thanks all, for making the effort – much appreciated.

Whether or not the extended stopover at home will do us any good remains to be seen, but it definitely felt great to recharge our batteries. This afternoon/evening will be the longest any of us has gone without cycling for nearly two weeks, so hopefully it will give those achey joints and tired muscles a chance to recover slightly before we head off for the final (and what everyone assures us – with relish, I might add – will be the hardest) leg of the journey so far: the continuous hills of Devon and Cornwall. Wish us luck!

Actually, that didn’t end up being so short, did it? That explains why it’s taken so long then. I’ll try harder tomorrow, I promise. Night all!

What do they say about only mad Dawgs and Englishmen going out in the midday sun? They’re not far wrong. Crumbs, it was hot today! And the heat appears to be bringing out our crazy side.

In fact, there’s a very good chance that the rigours of a 16-day tour with no-one but ourselves to talk to might be sending us over the edge. What is the sound of three men slowly going off their rockers? I’ll tell you. It’s bursting into The Beatles’ “Long and Winding Road” at every (and I mean every) bend in the route. It’s hysterical laughter at the idea of Ike and Tina singing about “Knutsford City Limits”. It’s remonstrating with the wind so violently that nearby children are rendered speechless by the colour of the language. It’s doing increasingly surreal impressions of the various characters we’ve met on our journey so far – from the American cycle tourist lost in the wilds of the Western Isles with no-one but his bike, Bob Jackson, for company; to the gnarled old Scottish cycling pro warning of the terrors that await in the Trough of Bowland. Bailey and I seem to be particularly afflicted with this; to be fair to the Dawg, he’s not really said anything too weird yet – which is, in itself, strange. Either it’s a sign of increasing maturity, or evidence that he actually lost all his marbles long ago, and now has none left to lose. I’m going with the latter.

We packed up the tent and left Pontesbury early, with the intention of putting in another big shift. Our original destination was Hereford, but we decided to push on to Monmouth if we could, the thinking being that we would leave ourselves a short day tomorrow in order to maximise time with friends and family at our overnight stop back home in Bristol. After an unconventional breakfast of pain au chocolats and pasties, we set off into the Stiperstones AONB and began making our way down the English/Welsh border. The scenery here was beautiful, but it was offset somewhat by two of the toughest hill climbs (in terms of steepness) we’ve yet encountered. On the plus side, they did give us about five miles of descent – much appreciated given we now have close to 800 miles in the legs!

At lunch we stopped at a cracking pub in the village of Leintwardine, overlooking a lovely river with a stone bridge, before cracking on again through Hereford and down to Monmouth. Again, the ride was beautiful, but as the day wore on the fatigue was really starting to set in; the last thing we needed to see was a two-climb into Monmouth that nearly killed us.

I think all those miles are finally beginning to take their toll. Bailey, in particular, was struggling with his knees today – ironic, given that the Dawg seems like a different person since reaching his nadir on Arran. The last few days he’s been tearing into the hills, shaking off the shackles of his knee support strapping like a young Forrest Gump. Pedal, Geoffrey, pedal! In fact, I’m convinced he’s performed some sort of black magic trick, as his upturn in fortunes seems to have coincided precisely with Bailey’s struggles. He’s brought everything else with him; why not a voodoo doll as well?

Thank goodness for a short-ish ride to Bristol tomorrow to catch up with friends and family. I think we could all do with some R&R!

After my night on the floor, I was keen to get up early and leave the Travel Tavern behind us, escape the northwest’s seemingly endless urban sprawl and look for somewhere more in keeping with the rural aesthetic we’d become accustomed to. As it turns out, we didn’t have to travel far – just a few more miles the previous night would’ve seen us clear of the built up area and back into the countryside, where there was an abundance of nice-looking places to stay. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Our route skirted the edge of Warrington and headed down into Cheshire. We soon gave up on following the Sustrans cycle path after a hugely confusing 40 minutes in Northwich that seemed to be taking us round in circles, and opted to follow our instincts instead; we were rewarded with a route that took in quiet country roads through a series of stunning villages and hamlets, past multiple castles, and alongside a beautiful canal – this was more like it. We were now in proper WAG country: all of a sudden the houses were more impressive, the cars more expensive, and the whole area more attractive. It’s also real cyclist country. We saw more people out on bikes today than we have on the entire trip so far. It was interesting how tribal they were – many of the roadies we passed would barely give us the time of day, bombing along in their mini pelotons. You try carrying all this stuff, fellas, and we’ll see how fast you go then!

We stopped for lunch at a cracking pub called the Bickerton Poacher, which appeared like an oasis just as the sun was at its hottest and we were gasping for refreshment. Then it was on to our final push of the day, down to just south of Shrewsbury. We were all struggling now as the heat began to take its toll, and we seriously debated whether we should call it a day rather than push on to the campsite; but, figuring that any miles done tonight would be miles we wouldn’t have to do tomorrow, we cracked on. It was a Herculean, banana-fuelled effort from the boys (particularly from the Dawg, who managed the last 20 miles on just 10 gears due to a problem with his left shifter, and from Bailey, who navigated us through Shrewsbury with surprising speed thanks to some nifty on-the-fly decision-making), and we ended up with another 85 miles chalked off. Phew!

By now it was gone 8 o’clock and we were struggling to find somewhere that would serve us food. We only had two options: the pub up the road that stopped serving at 9pm, or the curry house down the road that stopped at 9.30. Working on the basis that curry and cycling aren’t happy bedfellows (and trying not to think about the ramifications of three men in a small tent, post-jalfrezi), we opted for the Nag’s Head. We put up the tent in record time, showered, then got back on the bikes for the two-mile cycle to the pub. It was a close-run thing, but we just about made it – thanks in no small part to the fact that, shorn of our panniers and gear, the bikes felt so light!

There we were treated to an amazing roast, some well deserved pints and even invited to stay on at the staff party that was going on in the bar. We declined citing an early start (the first time I’ve ever seen the Dawg turn down free beer – actually, probably the first time I’ve ever turned down free beer!) and headed back to the campsite. After a slightly tentative cycle back (one head torch and a couple of rear lights between three is not the best way to approach country lanes after dark), we piled into the tent and fell fast asleep – or at least we did once the Dawg had spent about 25 minutes trying to find his way out of his sleeping bag, through the porch and into the toilet. It’s a tent Geoffrey, not a bloody decompression chamber!

Apologies for the lack of Day 10/11 blogs. Lifecyclist.co.uk will return once I’ve: a) established a stable wifi/3G connection; and b) recovered the energy required to lift my fingers enough to type on an iPhone keypad.

The following charts should explain everything:

Thanks for your patience!

No offence, good people of Leigh – you’ve been extremely helpful and friendly, and for that I thank you – but this is not how I wanted today to end.

From the highs (both literal and metaphorical) of yesterday – the beauty of the Lakes, the euphoria of our off-road adventure, the conviviality of the pubs – today it was back down to earth with a bump. I’m writing this blog from a retail park, on the floor of a travel tavern (no bed for me in this Inn!), following a meal at Nando’s. From the sublime to the utterly mundane in 24 hours: that’s how quickly things can change when you’re constantly on the move!

We suspected it might be this way when planning the route – that the congested urban sprawl of the northwest would be amongst the toughest to navigate and the trickiest in terms of finding somewhere nice to stay. And so it proved.

Picking our way down through town after town was something of a stop-start affair, swapping between NCN routes and roads; but we made reasonable time and there were large chunks of the route that were very pleasant to cycle. The Sustrans route through Beetham and Yealand Redmaynes was quiet and punctuated by lovely little villages; the coastal path to Conder Green was the perfect spot for a cuppa and a flapjack (or three); there was a stretch down the Lancaster canal – and later, the Leeds & Liverpool Canal – that provided much-needed shade and relief from the blazing sunshine; and the sections through the parks in Lancaster, Preston and Cuerden were all oases of leafy tranquility in an otherwise hectic day of busy roads, traffic noise and navigational nitpicking.

The worst was reserved for the end of the day: we just couldn’t seem to escape the low-level sprawl, and ended up in a town called Leigh: not exactly the picturesque resting place we’d had in mind. Our plans to camp had gone out of the window due to a complete absence of campsites, and even finding a decent B&B was proving a struggle. Our only option was the travel tavern – very Alan Partridge – next to the Leigh Centurions rugby league stadium (quite an impressive sporting development for such a small town – Bristol take note). There were only two beds due to a wedding, so we spoofed for them: I lost, hence the floor. Ah well, dry your eyes Thommo. At least I finally got to use the sleeping bag and mattress I’ve been lugging around for the best part of 630 miles!

All in all, though, we’re feeling pretty good: we’ve broken the back of the busy northwest, and now it’s on to the quieter reaches of the English-Welsh border. More hot sunshine forecast for tomorrow: better pack extra water!