(See here for the first entry in this series)

Why have I done such a masochistic trip, similar in ways to the French-Spanish trip last year? I could have carried on with my routine monotonous existence, but it would seem, we need to get out of the rut now and then, even if it is to go off and lay in the sun in Spain and be away from the laid-on comforts of home surroundings and really appreciate them upon return. In this case, the self inflicted deprivations of such a marathon, seem to set out to prove to one’s self that such a task is possible – to face the uncertain events that lay on the journey and to overcome the pitfalls, the hazards, the fatigue – to complete such a task, as a personal achievement is ample satisfaction. To talk about it to other later, they cannot be expect to understand the reasons why or even bother to think about it, other than to express a passing convenient remark like ‘rather you than I’.

Some fellow travellers and waysiders, whom I did exchange a few words with on the way and those who helped me, not alone made such a pilgrimage memorable, they truly restore one’s faith in the fellowship of mankind, they understood. One such person for example, was the ‘Hells Angels’ biker who saw me pushing the bike because I had run out of fuel. He slowed down and whizzed pass me, only to return with a full can of petrol. Having thanked him for his kind gesture, I asked him how much I owed him – ‘pass it on’ he said. That is something I will never forget.

I would not advise anyone to attempt the as I did but one the contrary, the satisfaction of this achievement (if you can call it that) is a very personal thing. It is something I will store in my memory-bank – in my personality it may not show, but my conversation at times may recall and I hope not to bore the listener or incidents along the way. I shall never do such a trip again. Amen.

(Post Script – this trip proved the be the maiden voyage of eight such trips that continued until Dermot was 86 years old. He celebrated in 89th birthday hitch-hiking across Canada from Toronto to Edmonton, with only his trusty tent and rucksack as his companions.)

I am just off the A1. I have passed near Leeds, Sheffield, Lincoln, Grantham, Peterborough and St Ive’s. I was on the road by 6.00 am, there was no rain but cloudy. The traffic very heavy and the wind from the northeast helping me along. It makes a lot of difference, speeds of 30-40 mph. Beginning to develop a knocking noise at 35 mph, hope it holds to complete the marathon in 10 days. Only 100 miles now from London and I have done 100 miles in 3 hours already this morning. Heavy showers coming on, so I will have to take shelter (or shall I go through it) but I roll on to London.

The A1 at places turns in the A1(M), it is really a motorway all the way from Scotland. The traffic is very heavy, predominantly large container lories and the like, speeding to get to their destinations, a race against time itself, as it were. When it rains the heavy trucks kick up such a spray and backlash so as to make such roads an insane place to be trying to wend ones way through on a bike.

However, in spite of hazards, progressing slowly at 35mph approximately towards London and home. Like the homing pigeon, am now on a straight a course as possible on the A1 directly into London. I am now reaching the realms of somewhat familiar territory (in spite of rain and juggnaughts). I fill up at Biggleswade and that will carry me to home sweet home. Coming up to a coned area of the A1 where repairs are taking place, single traffic, like on many other such occasions. I am holding up a bunch of mad eager truck drivers at my rear and I develop a sever wobble. Something has gone wrong with the bike, like a flat back wheel, I cannot slow down because of the queue of lunatics on my tail wanting to grind me into pulp.

I steer into the coned off area, I manage to keep on the saddle, I slow down and stop. Brought the bike into a layby to have a look. There were no flat tyres but I see a bolt, a large bolt, sticking about 6 inches out of the frame at the rear of the engine. This bolt holds the frame together, so that it hinges on the halfway mark to accommodate the suspension. In other words the bike was falling apart right under me as I rode it. A nut had loosened and fallen off, possibly a few miles back and the bolt was working its way right out of the frame. I hammered the bolt back in but I didn’t have a nut to secure and tighten it. Where the nut should be, I decided to use some wire and wound it round and round as tightly as I could, hoping it would suffice. Yes, I had some copper wire, easy to bend and manipulate, in my tool-kit but it was no longer there. It must have dropped and was lost when doing some other repair. But necessity is the mother of invention; I have a large safety pin – and that wire. I straighten that out and wind it around the end of the bolt as securely as possible, where the nut should be, cover it with insulation tape. I try it out – it works! Still a wobble, so I keep an eye on it and drop my speed to 25/30 mph. But there is something else happening, like a bearing has gone or a bush in the gearbox system. The gears are very rough and I can hear and feel grinding – it’s nothing to do with the loose frame or the wobble. I press on expecting things to grind to a complete seizure, a halt at any moment. The trouble gets worse as I soldier on. Will I be beaten on the last dew miles of my pilgrimage? Not if I can help it. Of course I should pack it in and not run the engine to complete stoppage, a wreck. I somehow get to the end of the A1 which I have been on almost since Edinburgh and now right into outer London Town. I reach the North Circular Road, it’s now about 3.00 pm.

I don’t want to go through the centre of London, so I head east on the North Circular and head towards the Woolwich Ferry, which passes right by where Martin (my son) lives. As luck would have it, I lose the North Circular somewhere north of Tottenham and I’m on a road leading to Dagenham. By the time I get back to the North Circular I was in East Ham and had accidentally detoured passed Martin’s abode by about three miles. Since the bike is still going, I will keep right on ‘til the end of the road, or ‘til it ceases and packs in on me.

I negotiate a busy crossing near Gants Hill, the A13 flyover and North Woolwich when a very severe wobble brings me to a complete stop right in the middle of very impatient traffic. I wheel the bike to the side of the road near the flyover by the artificial ski-slope. The bolt is till in place, the safety pin wire still holds but this time it is really a flat rear tyre – the first I’ve had on the whole trip and almost home – only a few miles to go. I cannot walk home; this bike cannot be pushed with a flat tyre. Besides I have quite a weight in the wet kit in the wet kit I am carrying. Out come the tools once more and the puncture outfit. It is not an easy task without the proper tools, to get the tube out of the tyre and in actual fact the wheel should be taken right off. With a screwdriver and a spanner I manage to get the tube out, leaving the wheel in place, it’s like repairing a pushbike puncture. I did not think I could do it, but somehow I manage. I had thought of getting in touch with Martin to bring along his VW van, but an hour later I was grinding my way towards the Woolwich Ferry – which was NOT running – so I head for the ‘rat-race’ using the Blackwall Tunnel. I now wobble along at 20 mph, likely to cease at any moment. The traffic is very busy; it’s rush-hour and everyone mad to get home, including yours truly. I limp home finally at 5.20 pm and very thankful indeed to have completed 2,107 miles marathon, mopedding to the extreme ends of Britain in 10 days

Traffic has been thundering by all night on the busy A1, mainly heavy stuff which makes me shudder, as I have now to go back on that juggernaught race track again.

Breakfast this morning, in the rain, brown bread, beans, cheese, Yorkie bar, an orange and water, which I got at a service station south of the Forth Road bridge, and it tastes distinctly of detergent (the water I mean). Everything wet and sodden – still raining and I am very reluctant to battle on my flimsy machine on that road today (13th). It’s not funny at all – it’s madness, which later when memory recalls will make me chuckle a little and thank the good Lord above for giving me such a large slice of The Luck of the Irish. Hold on a while Dermot, it is raining heavier than ever.

Still the same with the Honda. Must hand to those Japanese, for a machine, as long as it has fuel, it goes on and on and on. A bit of late news before I pull down my tent – the tent now contains mod-cons, a toilet, as it’s much too wet to go outside. I have to dig a hole with a stick, at the bottom of my tent and did a no. 2, covering it up with earth. Not many tents can boast of such mod-cons – you dirty *******, I promise not to make a habit of it. Us Land’s End/John O’Groaters can be very rough and uncouth at times – a bit of the caveman in us all.

Went on the A1 to Berwick but left it at Grantshouse A6112 to Duns, Coldstream, Kelso and Jedburgh. It’s very wet since it has been raining all night and on into the day. Traffic easier on the minor roads. I join the A68 which I should have taken out of Edinburgh last night. That put is about 40miles on to my journey. I crossed in and out of Scotland several times over the River Tweed. The A68 is a very hilly road – hills and valleys appear perpetually, with small towns here and there. I join the A1(M), by passing Darlington (Durham), then south to North Yorkshire. The rain eases as evening approaches but there is a cold northeast wind. I had to rest up several times because of cold and cramp and do some exercises to restore the circulation. I got some grub in one of the towns, Kelso, where there is a ruined abbey. I had to camp, in wet gear because there was no drying today, North Hallerton (Yorks)

I had some food, dried out my kit, posted off some post-cards and rested. There were heavy April showers out towards the Orkneys, it was very cold with snow on the mountains. At least the Honda is still going well – apart from a dud battery. I will vary my journey of 800 miles back to London and should do it in about 4 – 5 days (all being well). I certainly would not think of getting in for a swim here, although I did see one swallow, the last I saw were in Cornwall at the start of this trip. Also heard a few cuckoos on the journey.

Westwards now to Thurso along the A836 on the north Scottish rugged coast, a very good secondary road, not a lot of traffic. On to Tongue and then southwards through the mountains, a very minor road with even less traffic. Along by Loch Goil and lucky to have been able to fill up with petrol at a single remote petrol pump, taking me on to Lairg – towns very sparse. Heavy showers are perpetually having in the clouds on the mountaintops. Only two cars passed me on this single-track road of about 50 miles. I have done a further 114 miles today – in all I did 226. Camped for the night in a forest overlooking a loch and Bonar Bridge. The mountains are rolling away to the south, a splendid view. Had a good night, a few showers, owls and rooks, with Scottish accents no doubt, a touch of the Gaelic lingo. In the morning I heard a cuckoo. The morning was sunny and I managed some initial kit drying. It weighs a ton when wet. It promises to be a fair day, there is less wind. The radio packed up but the Honda is OK – the battery still dead.

Wednesday 12 May

A week out on this trip now with 1448 miles behind me. There are plenty of sheep everywhere, even on the roads (some dead) and cattle too, grazing on minor roads.

On the road at 9.00am, through Bonar Bridge and heading south on the A9 to Inverness, where I picked food and sent a card to Mary. I was lucky enough to get petrol, as I was running out. The A9 to Perth is like a motorway – dual carriageway most of the way. Lots of juggernaughts to blow me off the road and getting drowsy in spite of the bitter winds and showers. Having done 140 miles so far today (3.30 pm), I am putting down for a rest and some grub about 30 miles north of Perth. Weather is picking up here and it’s a little warmer. I may get to Edinburgh tonight and pass through while things are quiet!!

Now on to Perth but get bogged down here drying to keep off the motorway for 38 miles to Edinburgh. Eventually failing to find another way through Perth, have with some trepidation decided to try the motorway. On it for about 10 miles and – yes – run out of petrol. Stranded on the M90 motorway. I find it best to walk with the bike until I find a slip-road, which I do after a mile or so. I try to cadge a couple of pints of petrol off of a farmer but no dice. He does however direct me to a village about 3 miles away. It was 6.30 pm and they closed at 7 o’clock – half an hour to get three miles and I was not too sure of the farmer’s directions. I managed to hitch a lift from a posh guy in a swell car. He brought me right to the petrol station, with a few minutes to spare before closing time. I got a gallon can of petrol and what’s more, the chap at the petrol station gave me a lift back to my Honda. I gave him back his empty can and thanked him kindly and was ready for another ‘bash’ at the motorway again. Very gusty, especially with large trucks speeding by. I see the Forth Road Bridge from about 5 miles out – two bridges actually. It was quite an experience crossing as the bridge is about 400 feet high and the buffeting from cross winds and trucks passing me – was not something I would want to ever try again. At the other side of the bridge is a toll barrier – I asked the chap collecting the tolls if pensioners on mopeds were free and he waved me on as though I were a well known celebrity..

Edinburgh City was lovely but regrettably I was not on a sight-seeing tour and it was now 9.00 pm and I very much wanted to get through the city before dark – this I managed to do and I took the A1 road to Berwick thinking it was a direct link to the A1 road going south to London. Looking at the map now, I discover I should have taken the A7 leading to the A68 to Jedburgh. Somehow I shall have to re-route – the story of this tour, alas.

Anyway I stopped for the night in a wood about 20 miles southeast of Edinburgh. At first I was disturbed by farmers working with tractors, sowing seed or something, by night, but they stopped around midnight as the rain, again poured down, all night. By now all the camouflaged tea/coffee stain I had painted on my tent had washed off, leaving me with a bright blue tent.

Having trouble with the battery – there seems to be a lot of plate sediment on the bottom – probably shorting all plates. I could give it a rinse out and replace the acid. However may do some sort of temporary repair – fingers crossed.

Northwards to Dalmally (A919) and then on to the A82 to Crainlarich and Tyndrum. Mountains are everywhere, predominating and towering right overhead, with clouds draping over the peaks. It is raining and heading into gusty and crosswinds – it is hard to stay on the road. There is a good deal of holiday traffic, mainly good drivers, occasional mad ****. Onwards to Glencoe and completed a huge half circle, up and down hill and mountain with wonderful views but cannot keep stopping to have a look. Running out of petrol, the tank only holds a gallon – it has gone seven o’clock, will try to knock someone up at a closed garage for petrol in Kinlochleven. No response! Pass a fish farm in Loch Leven and had to stop off because of torrential rain. I find an entrance marked ‘private’ on the gate, to a pinewood where I camped down for the night. I had supper and was asleep by the time my head hit the pillow, to dream sweet dreams, to the sound of rain drumming on my tent and the sweet music of a lullaby of the wind in the pines towering over me.

Monday 11 May

Six o’clock, still raining and wind now howling through the pines and bits falling on my tent. I am really warm, dry and comfortable in my sleeping bag, so I turn over and have another 40 winks and wait for the storm to pass (and of course an excuse to have a lay-in – an easy day – have earned it, a perk!)

Radio battery disconnected somehow, so no weather forecast. I get going and someone is talking about a London bus strike – I could not care less. I have gathered a nice pool of rainwater in a hollow in my ground- sheet, this I use to have a shave as I have not shaved for six days (it helps to protect the face from fierce elements). I have ‘brekky’ of porridge (with bran), jam for sweetener, lashings of milk which I have carried from Wigan, bread, more jam and cheese. I have an orange for ‘afters’. The rain is ceasing and wind not so strong – another 200 miles of mopedding lays ahead, up along the Caledonian Canal to Inverness, through the Grampians. The tent has kept the rain out well and replaces the tent I lost on my French trip.

Travelled on to Fort William, then along the Caledonian Canal, on the A82 to Drumnadrochit and then the A877 to Beauly, where I had to shelter from the rain, A little later I had to pull up and put down my tent in very heavy rain to a sodden birch wood. I somehow manage to get a good kip in spite of the rain all night. A dog in a nearby house sussed me out at about 4 am and barked, more from surprise, than defending his territory.

I was on the road before 6.00am, there was thick fog for about two hours and visibility was in the valleys. It was quite dangerous but I pressed on to Warrington, then on to Wigan where I ‘grubbed up’ for Saturday and Sunday at a Supermarket. I reached Preston Airport at 10.00am and headed on to Lancaster on the A6 but kept losing it each time I went through a town – I found myself on the A683 heading for Kirkby Lonsdale ‘Dale’ country. It was very hilly and windy roads back to the A6 at Kendal, but again I lose the A6 going North West on the A591 to Windermere in the Lake District. It is one of the beauty spots of the world but very commercialised and overcrowded with visitors – it’s quite like Killarney.

It is much colder today, very cloudy and the wind is fresh but a splash of sun at times – no rain so far, thanks be to the Lord.

Bike going very well in this colder weather but the electrics still faulty. Covering fair distances today, so far 158 miles and am going on for another 3-4 hours yet. I should get into Scotland tomorrow – all being well. The mileage yesterday was 236. No mishaps – no aches – no pains.

On the A74 and on to Carlisle direct to Glasgow. On part of the M74 motorway the wind was dead against me and I was very cold but pressed on until 8.00 pm, about 25 miles South of Glasgow. I camped for the night under pine trees and was not disturbed except for quacking, flying ducks.

On the road by 6.00am and it’s very foggy and damp. Had a little trouble starting the Honda but went onto a slope and into gear and away in very chilly conditions through Exeter on to Tiverton. Took a wrong turning to Crediton and up and down hills, in and out of fog – put on another 20miles to my journey. Onto Bridgewater and Wellington, fog lifting for another sunny and very hot day. Went off course (A38) in Bristol and had a devil of a job getting on to the road to Gloucester. It is easy by motorway but the A38 took me round in circles – I relied on the sun for direction – north.

The electrics are giving trouble on the Honda (for the second day now). Am sunbathing and resting and drying out my camping gear for a few hours, near Alveston (Gloucester). All my tenting gear is now dry and packed ready to continue. Honda does not operate very well in this heat and gear changing is a concern. On the road again at 5.00pm, passed Bristol airport. The road is not busy and am heading, in warm sunshine, for Gloucester and on to Tewkesbury – I did not stop but could be really worthwhile a visit. On the A38 going through Worcester and Kidderminster and Telford (complex by-pass). It was hard keeping on the A38 to Bristol. Then the A442 to Wellington and it was about 10.00pm when I set up camp for the night near Whitechurch – I camped in a wood and in was calm, peaceful and dry.

Up at 7.00am and after breakfast, on to Land’s End by 9.00am. It’s a touristy place, souvenirs etc. Stopped off at St Just and St Ives, posted some postcards and head northeast, more or less on the road I had came down on. I am now drying off my gear and resting, near Redruth. It is a nice sunny day and very little wind. The bike has not got enough power to climb the steep hills, but I press on regardless.

5.00pm – carry on back the A30 to Exeter and camped for the night amongst some young trees by the side of the A30. A fairly good night and not much dew. In a nearby farmhouse a dog was whining for most of the night.

Set off from London at 5.45 am, the weather good and sunny. Traffic light, except in Winchester. Saw my first swallow.

10.20am – Now eight miles east of Dorchester, having covered 120 miles in 4.5 hours. All is well, average speed 35 mph. Finding it hard to change down (gears), as side pannier is in the way of my foot. It is a lovely day – went off my track at Dorchester and on to the coast at Weymouth. To get back to the A35 at Bridport, I took a coastal minor and very hilly road and I ran out of petrol at Abbotsbury. I had to push the bike up some steep hills and free wheel down, getting petrol at Burton Bradstock.

Now back on the A35, pressed on to Exeter and on to Oakhampton, Launceston, Bodmin, Redruth, Penzance and finally on the camp just outside Lands End – in a meadow. There was no hassle but it was very cold and a heavy dew wetting everything, just like rain. Distance today was 311 miles and I am whacked. The cold woke me up several times during the night.

Friday 2 5 86

The purser kindly accepted my out of date day return excursion ticket, which was already two weeks over due, otherwise it would have cost me £17. 50 single. At the last moment there were parties of French secondary school children boarding the ship and immediately created a chaos of a playground din of boisterous activity through the ship and it was, for a while, hard to settle down to sleep for the 4½hours night sailing to Newhaven. I get into my sleeping bag and crashed out ‘til we were going into Newhaven Harbour. It was still dark but could hear the dawn chorus welcoming us. The pleasure and relief of returning made the harrowing adventures of the past 16days all the more memorable. A little difficulty in landing as there was a check by emigration on alien embarkation.

Before leaving initially at the start of my trip, I camped overnight near Seaford, and as it had rained during the night. I tried to dry out my camping gear and I laid my tent out on some long grass a little distance away. I had camouflaged the tent by staining it dark brown by painting it with over-brewed tea -yes tea – so well, that on packing my gear on that first morning out, I gathered everything but omitted to see the highly camouflaged tent and did not discover it missing until I tried to camp on that first night in France. Now, the trip finalised and return fatigued, possibly exhausted, but a lot wiser. By some remarkable long chance, would the tent be still there, maybe blown into some odd corner and not been particularly noticed by anyone that happened along that stretch of the shoreline between Newhaven and Seaford. Before returning homeward on this the 16th day of the trek, I went over to the spot where I had camped that night over two weeks previously, and in the early morning light at about 05.30hrs, I could see no sign of my Bukta tent – hold on a minute – a heap of lumped up plastic sheeting attracted my attention. I turned the plastic over and low and behold, there is a tent here attached to the plastic sheeting which is intended to form a sort of extra water-proofing – no not my tent but a tent just the same. Could there be a connection? Why not – those campers had evidently come across my Bukta tent and dumped their own scraggy thing.

I have brought it home with me and perhaps with time and patience, it may go a short way towards my much-travelled Bukta tent.

Homeward bound at last, the weary traveller finds himself going through a street in Lewes on the right hand side of the road and to make matters worse it is also a one-way street and Murphy’s Law inevitably supplied the two police officers. This could not be overlooked in the early morning, so I was stopped and cautioned but not breathalysed for riding a bike under the influence etc. The officers kindly decided to overlook the matter in spite of the fact that it just happened underneath the stalwart outer walls of Lewes Prison where there was a riot a few days previously.

The 60 odd miles from Newhaven to my humble abode on the outskirts of London town took just over six hours in fine weather and the only day of the 16day trip to supply me with the much wanted follow wind. It also was the only day that I discarded my extra clothing and actually cycled along in just a pair of shorts and shoes in the warm spring sunshine.

It may seem to have been a useless and unnecessary way to punish one’s self but many things of interest emerged: relationship of ones capacity under stress of various sorts and how to cope, survive, make the most of whatever is available – what to expect in the line of help from other individuals. Those who offered help, advice or kindness, will linger longer in the memory, than those who were petty, mean or mocking.

Dermot Leo CURRAN