It was still raining when I looked out of the window in the morning. In fact I never did see John O’Groats in the dry. But I didn’t particularly care; I was probably still savouring the end of the ride and in no hurry to get going again. Sixteen consecutive days on the bike is unusual for me. At home I normally ‘use’ it every day but for short hops, visits, shopping trips etc., on days when I’m not working. Even during the RTW I would normally get a break after maximum eight or nine days. Impatience to get home set in later.

My copy of the Wick to Inverness timetable showed 6.20, 8.12, 12.36 and 1600 trains. In spite of the lack of information from the tourist office, I knew from my own research pre ride that bike booking was essential on Scotrail, especially for this leg. With hindsight, I wish I’d got my act together and gone for the 8.12; it’s only 16 miles back to Wick and I may possibly have got a bike space. But I didn’t. A lazy breakfast at an hour commensurate with conventional holiday-making was on the cards for that morning. Recent habits die hard. In spite of my attempt at a leisurely start, I was still packed up, breakfasted, on the road in the rain and at Wick railway station at just before ten.

I was aiming for the 12.36 train, hoping to be able to get the bike aboard. A sign that I’d missed the day before announced that the ticket office didn’t open till 10.10 – a strange time to choose I thought – so I sat down out of the rain to wait. Very soon a large woman, almost wearing a railway worker’s uniform, coughing profusely and smelling of cigarettes, came into the waiting area. She took one look at me and rather brusquely repeated what I’d read on the notice. “No problem” I replied and continued my wait. She waddled off into the bowels of the building. Once at the open ticket office window, I was told, reasonably politely, that there wasn’t a bike place on the midday train but that she could book me on the 1600. She was sat beside a modern-looking computer connected, I assumed, to the normal rail network, but told me that her system only allowed her to book me as far as Inverness. I bought my ticket for the late afternoon train and wandered off to see what a wet Monday in Wick had to offer.

Having done some off-shore sailing in the past, I’m always interested in looking at boats so I headed towards the harbour. However, the rain was harder than ever when I got there. I found a café overlooking the water, bought some tea and scones and settled down with my mini computer to do some e mailing. After an early lunch, the rain had stopped so I quit the café and took a leisurely turn around the harbour, chatting to a few of the locals about their boats. Then into town to have a look at the local shops and, armed with a copy of the Guardian, back to the station to wait for my train.

With bike safely stashed, comfortably seated and awaiting departure, I noticed another cyclist coming down the platform and loading his bike onto the train. He took a seat opposite me. About half my age, it transpired that he was from Oldham, so also heading for Manchester. He’d completed the ride that day, coming back down to Wick on the off chance of catching the train that day. He’d been fortunate. The last train of the day probably isn’t popular with cyclists making their way home. We spent the journey comparing our experiences.

From Wick, the train heads back up in a north-westerly direction to Thurso, then south again, seemingly to meander all over the northern part of the Highlands, eventually arriving in Inverness some four hours later. It was a very picturesque journey. I had the timetable open in front of me and followed the stations as we went. I managed to recognise the exact spot where this very train had frightened the life out of me from behind a hedge on the camp site north of Tain. I noted how accurate the timetable was; we arrived at each station bang on time. Considering that it’s a single track line, with the consequent need to coordinate up and down trains, not really surprising I suppose. If only we could be that accurate in England.

My travel companion and I parted company at Inverness. Despite the hour, he intended to try and carry on to Edinburgh. However, with the impending Festival and not wanting to spend the night on a station, I preferred to take my chances in Inverness. It was 8.20 pm. I’d been told that the ticket office closed at 8.30; I headed there post-haste. The very helpful woman behind the counter told me that the booking system normally closes down before that time but she hit the keyboard and managed to get me and bike onto a 7.55 am train to Edinburgh for the next day, with my ticket all the way through to Manchester. Apparently, bikes places should be booked at least three hours before the time of travel. She was unable to book mine further but suggested I come back at 6.30 in the morning to try and secure bike places for the journey on. She asked me why I hadn’t booked the whole thing in Wick and when I gave her the answer, berated her colleague saying that “she’s got the same facilities as I have and was just being lazy”. I’m conscious of being somewhat prejudiced towards obese people, especially those who smoke, but do my best to curb it. Unfortunately, this little snippet of information only served to reinforce it.

In view of the early start, I didn’t want to stray too far from the station to stay that night. Enquires had gleaned that there were no cheap accommodation opportunities near the centre of town so I tried a couple of the chain hotels not far from the station – both full. The receptionist in the second one suggest I try the hotel right next to the station. I hadn’t realised there was one that close, having left the main entrance without glancing back, following directions I’d been given for other places. Once back at the station and stood in front of the Royal Highland Hotel, I could understand why my direction-giver hadn’t mentioned it. She probably thought that a cyclist wouldn’t be interested in somewhere quite so posh. Olde Worlde Grand it certainly was, and with prices to match, but with the advantage of almost sharing an entrance with the station. Only a twin left, but the sympathetic receptionist managed to get it down to just under a hundred pounds. My bike was safely secured in the ‘porter’s lodge’ too; in reality a room off the main lobby. I ordered an early continental breakfast so as to be in time to book my ticket in the morning.

I was at the door of the station booking office as the staff opened up on the morning of Tuesday 18th August, only to be told that I’d been given the wrong information the night before. Only tickets could be sold at this time, bookings can’t be made until 7.30. Patience was wearing a bit thin. We really do have a third world travel system in this country! So, back to the hotel for more tea, packing and to load up the bike. I did manage to secure a booking from Edinburgh to Preston before boarding my 7.55 train though.

It was a pleasant run down to the Capital; four more hours of some of the UK’s most spectacular scenery. In Edinburgh I changed for Preston and, after a rather torturous ride down through the rest of Scotland and the eastern part of the Lake District, boarded a little local train heading for Buxton – no booking required – but which passed through Manchester. I finally arrived at Piccadilly Station just before five. Two days to travel from the north or Scotland to a principle city in the north of England. Not what one would expect from a country that gave the world railways!

Some Facts and Figures

Overall Distance - 900 miles
Adding up the daily mileages recorded each evening, it came to 899.7 miles. However, when subtracting the odometer reading at the start from the reading at the finish, it came out at exactly 900 miles

Shortest Day – 32.74 miles
Over Dartmoor – the hills were a killer!

Longest Day – 81.36 miles
The last day – wanted to get it finished

Average Daily Mileage – 56.25 miles

Bike Problems
Front pannier rack slipping onto tyre. Solved with industrial-sized zip ties in Ludlow.
Damp in bike computer contacts in Scotland. Cured with WD40. May have missed recording a mile or two.
No Punctures

Tips ‘n Hints for would-be E2Eers
Don’t think about – just get out there and do it! But, if you do go, not in tourist high season.

Happy Cycling!