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.

Nevertheless, the completist in me won’t rest until I’ve finished the full set of daily blogs, so here it goes: the write up for Day 16 of our tip-to-toe cycling odyssey.

After checking out of Perranporth’s answer to the Phoenix Club and loading up the bikes for the final time, we headed off down the coast road bound for Hayle. The tone for the morning was set almost immediately: more hills. The climb out of town wasn’t exactly what we wanted after yet another cooked breakfast, and it was followed pretty soon after by similar slogs out of Porthtowan and Portreath as we made our way west down the steeply undulating north coast; despite only needing to cover around 40 miles to reach our journey’s end, it quickly became apparent that Cornwall wasn’t going to make things easy for us.

At Hayle (after a quick pitstop for lattes and the Worst Carrot Cake in Cornwall™) we joined NCN3 for the final stretch. We’ve enjoyed something of a love-hate relationship with the National Cycling Network over the course of the past fortnight; the Sustrans approach of taking you off the beaten track (and away from the road) at every available opportunity is admirable in terms of providing scenic alternatives to the main routes, and we’ve definitely benefitted from them along the way – but they don’t half make getting from A to B something of a chore at times. Between Hayle and Penzance, we saw both the best and worst of the NCN routes.

The route started out okay, with the stretch from the north coast down to the south – via pretty little lanes fringed with banks of wild flowers, emerging at Marazion to a stunning view of St Michael’s Mount – making us wonder whether we’d perhaps judged Sustrans a little harshly. But no sooner did the thought enter our heads than our mood soured as we hit the beach-hugging path towards Penzance. I’d call it a joke – apart from the fact that ploughing through deep sand on fully laden touring bikes was no laughing matter. We were all pretty envious of Martin’s mountain bike as he powered over the worst of the shingle! With the sand bringing us to a complete standstill, the only way forward for us JOGLErs was by teetering along the foot-wide sea wall, trying not to clip either panniers or pedals on the various obstacles strewn in our path and plummet down the six-foot drop to our immediate left. It was probably the most nerve-wracking cycling of the entire trip!

Not wanting to trust further to Sustrans, we left the NCN at Penzance and took the executive decision to brave the A30, figuring that it wouldn’t be too busy this far west – a choice that, with the benefit of hindsight, probably shaved a couple of hours off our journey time (I drove the route through Mousehole and Lamorna the following week, and it follows the seemingly standard Cornish template of steep climbs followed by even steeper descents). In actual fact, the A30 wasn’t too bad traffic-wise – certainly no worse than certain other roads we’d been on over the past two weeks – and despite the fact that those last 10 miles are a steady uphill climb, we could now scent the finish line in our nostrils and I think that gave us all an extra boost.

Even the blistering headwind couldn’t dampen our spirits. In fact, the euphoria of finally hitting the home straight actually sent us all a little bit loopy: the combination of hills and headwind had us laughing like maniacs into the face of the challenge, and we powered towards Land’s End with renewed effort (via a compulsory stop at the famous First and Last Inn). I think the enthusiasm with which we tackled those final few miles – and the speed we cranked them out in – nearly killed Monk; he confided to me afterwards that he was hanging onto the back wheel of our mini peloton for dear life, and literally collapsed in a heap once we crossed the line, unable to speak. Sorry mate!

Finishing was an amazing feeling, albeit slightly overwhelming. It was great to see all our friends and family cheering us on for that final dash, but hard to take in the magnitude of what we’d achieved in the immediate aftermath. Ah well, I guess that’ll come soon enough: for now, let’s just celebrate a job well done!