people are strange

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This is a bonus blog dedicated to some of the people I have met on my travels.

The McBeath father and son van driving team who took my bike and me from Inverness to Wick. I was supposed to be catching the train on to Thurso, but John pointed out that Wick was closer to John O'Groats than Thurso and offered to take me along with him and his son in the van. I was happy to go along for the ride since it got me closer to the start line and lessened my journey time. The trip up to Wick was entertaining and informative, John proving to be a mine of information on the area we were passing through. He was born an Orcadian and has spent the bulk of his life in the north of Scotland, driving various forms of transport along the highways and byways in the region. We discussed the problem of second home ownership and how this was causing communities to crumble, forcing people who live in an area to leave because they can't find work or afford a house; I found out what crofters are (farmers), had several examples of their houses pointed out to me and found out about the highland clearances. The Duke of Sutherland pushed the peasants off his land because he could make more money from sheep. Along the way his son, Ross, pointed out a place where a cyclist had been 'squished'. This provided me with a timely reminder to take care on the roads.

At the B&B in Wick I met another John, the proprietor of the Harbour Guest House. He had moved back to Wick from Northampton with his American wife, who had a penchant for Orlando Bloom, the effeminate elf from the Lord of the Rings trilogy. After an obscenely comfortable night's sleep, he cooked up a treat of a breakfast and regaled me with stories about our useless Prince and revealed his depth of knowledge about geo-politics, with particular emphasis on the Middle East. I noticed a brand new and unused laminator sat in his dining room, which he allowed me to use to knock up a sign letting people know what I was doing to attach to the back of my trailer. This sign lasted until Loch Fyne, when it came unstuck due to my thinking that the liberal use of gaffer tape would be sufficient to hold it on.

Donnie, the manager/owner of the John O'Groats hotel, at the start/finish line of the JOGLE run was the next character to come into my life. He has been working there for years and has seen all manner of attempts to complete the journey. The most memorable for him were the man who swam all the way, on the back of a lorry carrying one of those swimming treadmills. He was the same man who completed it on a penny farthing, who finished the London marathon dressed in a diving suit and who more recently did it dressed in armour and dragging a dragon. His wife has left him. Donnie gave me my first free squash of the trip and sent me away with a request that Jemma at Lands End send him the merchandise he has been expecting for weeks.

Lewis, the co-owner of the Dunroamin caravan and camping park, along with his wife Margaret, was a gentleman. He allowed me to stay for free and provided a good line in witty banter.

The family of Andrew (Dad) Andy, Cheryl and Foxy bumped into me at Drumnadrochit. Andy was impressed by my tent and we got chatting from there. From Elgin, they were on a weekend break. Andy and his Dad were up for some serious fishing and Cheryl was off on a horse ride through the woods. Spot on kids- funny, smart and polite. Cheryl had the idea of riding a horse all the way from John O'Groats to Lands End. Foxy was excitable and smelly, as dogs are meant to be.

Jayne, the gorgeous Ice-Cream girl, who ran her scoop through the creamy goodness of her product like no-one I have ever seen, was a particular highlight of the road down to Dingwall. Working at the Storehouse of Foulis she provided a welcome respite from the rigours of cycling along the busy A9. I dallied here marginally longer than necessary.

The mother and daughter team who ran the corner shop at the south-western end of Loch Ness provided me with tea and a soothing spray after I was stung by a bee - twenty pounds for a jar of honey! This is the first time this has happened since I was six. It wasn't as painful as I remember. Dubbed the Loch Ness monsters by the cheeky George, their sunny nature and willingness to help belied their nickname.

Francis Two Teas is a lady I met at the Ben Nevis youth hostel. I saw her pouring two mugs and asked if she was expecting company. It turned out she likes tea so much she often pours herself two. Fortunately this time she forwent her usual and allowed me to join her for tea and cake, before making a donation to the cause. The next day she made an attempt on the peak.

The Crediton girls were also staying at the hostel. These are the ones who were preparing for their Duke of Edinburgh by watching TV, instead of climbing Ben Nevis like the rest of their group. In what must be considered a stroke of logistical genius, they had arranged that only one member of each group should bring the essential hair straighteners. They also declined to walk the two miles into town to get their supplies, prefering to catch a taxi. However, I am sure that when it came to their walk, they performed immaculately, with perfectly coiffured hair.

There have been plenty of other folks making my journey through these fair Isles interesting, like the drunkards in Sanquahar who became incredibly excited at the sight of me in my cycling gear, or the camera shy owner of the cafe south of midge ridden Barcaldine who didn't want her picture taken in case 'they' recognised her and the host of people who have been happy to disprove the stereotype of the short-armed deep-pocketed Scot. However, I have no pictures of them, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

To all these people, I give a big thank you for helping me on my way.

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