Day Eleven - Glen Coe to Inverness

You know those documentaries, that have no real drama, so invent something vaguely pathetic to add a bit of tension; well, that is what has happened to this blog. Except it is not invented. (although it runs the risk of being pathetic).

Today, all was going well, we'd put Fort William behind us and were heading towards Loch Ness. The sun was out and i'd managed to score a packet of scones for lunch. What could possibly go wrong?

Well, soon after lunch (taken at the edge of a beautiful sun-dappled Loch Oich) my ankles took a collective decision that they had had enough. They went on to claim UDI and engaged in non-violent but pretty painful protest.

Standing up in the pedals is rapidly becoming akin to taking a bread knife to my Achilles, even soft pedalling leaves my normal stoical mask looking a little dislodged.

And there, people, is your drama.

We have two days left, one hundred and fifty four miles to go, and two non-functioning ankles; game on.

As I tap this out on my Iphone, I have one leg resting on a bag of ice. I've also lined up a few painkillers that could drop a horse. My ankles and me will have a serious conversation about this in the morning.

Otherwise, the day was marked by rather too much traffic, but some wonderful views of mountains and lochs.

Steve was once again like an excitable puppy on a bike; boundless energy however much he is exercised. As we passed a sign for Ben Nevis, Steve said, "Have you ever climbed it?"
"No," I replied, "have you?"
"Yep, last time my brother and I went touring in Scotland, we did it on our rest day. We pretty much ran up it".

I groaned inwardly.

Still, while I may not have the of Olympian stature of Steve, I am very pleased with the number of people who are referring to us as 'lads' on this tour. On one occasion, we found ourselves in conversation with an old boy in Cumbria (it was at a level crossing waiting for a train to pass - but let's say no more of that) who, when our chat was over wished us luck with a hearty, "good riding lads". It was like something out of an Enid Blyton novel. I'm called many things, but rarely something as inappropriate as 'lad'. I'm delighted to report not much has changed in Scotland, they just say 'laddie' instead.

I have to say that I could do with an age related compliment. Not only do most of the pictures taken of me on this trip appear to show me with ever increasing amounts of grey hair, just before I set out on this adventure, I was almost mortally wounded by a throw-away comment at a party. I was in conversation with an elderly chap, - somewhere in his mid-70s I'd wager - and was telling him about my forthcoming Lands End to John O'Groats ride. He looked across the table at one of my friends, (a woman of my approximate vintage, with four children of her own who are the same sort of ages as my children) and said pointing at her, "your daughter must be very proud of you". I left the party a broken man.

For fear of offending anyone, if you are from Fort William (and proud of it) can I suggest skipping the next paragraph ?

OK, now they are gone, can I just say what a dump the town is? Look at the name on a map and it conjours up images of a picturesque frontier town, beautifully blending in with the Highland scenery, full of healthy, hardy outdoor types.

What you get is a long line of holiday homes and ridiculously named Bed and Breakfast places, book-ending a town centre made almost entirely from ill-matching low rise concrete blocks. It was, to borrow a quote, a carbuncle. However, my critical (indeed our critical) mistake was to have a detailed and volumable conversation to this effect, while sitting on a park bench, while not three feet behind us sat a taxi, its window wide open and the driver hearing our every word and snort of derision. I'm concluding from the fact that he said nothing that he is either the recently sacked Planning Officer for Fort William, now making ends meet with a bit of cabbie work - or was from Oban.

Heroes of the day include the very kind owner of the Foyers Stores in the Falls of Foyer. When I stumbled in mid-afternoon to her shop and tea room, sweaty, dishevelled with vacant eyes ringed by salt marks, desperately in search of liquid refreshment, rather than throw me out (as was her right) she saw the logo of the children's charity we are riding for, and promptly donated £20 to the cause. It was a wonderfully kind gesture, so if you are ever passing Loch Ness, drop in at her tea room at the Falls if Foyer and give her your business.

I'd also like to thank Marek, Anna Plimmer and the Poulsons for donating to the ever-growing pot. People have been very kind - the total us just under 2.5k - a lot more than the £1,000 I first hoped for.

The last hero of the day is Steve. (if it is possible to type through gritted teeth than I am doing it!)

Firstly for putting up with my endless whinging, but also for offering to carry my panniers at the height of my Achilles distress yesterday. Of course, I could not allow this to happen...it would be little short of cycling emasculation.

However, I'll let you know if I weaken tomorrow. Don't bet against it.