I Tried Cycling The Length of Britain: 1,750kms & 17 Days On The Road | Land’s End to John O’Groats

Lands End to John O’Groats is one of Britain’s classic long distance cycle rides. It’s a route I’ve always wanted to ride — starting on the rugged coast of south west England, climbing through the mountains of Wales, and finishing all the way up in the spectacular Scottish Highlands. So in April of 2025, I set out to ride from Lands End to John O’Groats. 1,700 kms and 17 days through the very best of Great Britain.

Interested in the route and how I put it together? Check out my guide to the cycle here: https://substack.com/home/post/p-176073123

For more photos and words from the trip, check out https://oscarboyd.substack.com or follow me on instagram: https://www.instagram.com/oscar.boyd/

Many thanks to everyone who helped make this trip and film possible, and especially to Milo Boyd, Gabriele Bortolotti, Mum, Dad & Richard Deane for riding with me.

Music is by my sister, @AliceBoydMusic. Her latest album is called Cloud Walking. It’s great, check it out, support her by buying a vinyl: https://www.aliceboyd.info/projects/cloud-walking

Maps and graphics designed by the brilliant Tom Kilburn. Check out his work: https://tgk.co

Chapters:
00:00 – Intro
01:17 – Land’s End
04:40 – Truro & The Camel Trail
08:14 – Exmoor National Park
11:27 – Wales
13:16 – Wildfires
17:27 – The Cambrians
18:45 – Wales’ Best Road
21:20 – Snowdonia
24:17 – The Lake District
27:30 – Scotland
31:01 – Loch Lomond
33:18 – Glencoe, Britain’s Best Road
36:55 – The Great Glen
39:15 – Rainbowland
43:00 – The Flow Country
44:12 – The Final Day

The island of Great Britain, known for 
its tempestuous weather, scones and jam,   and one of the classic long distance 
cycle rides: Lands End to John O’Groats. It’s a route I’ve always wanted to ride — starting 
on the rugged coast of south west England, climbing through the mountains of 
Wales, and finishing all the way   up in the spectacular Scottish Highlands.
Those climbs, those descents… It makes you fall in love with cycling all over again.
Two weeks to escape London, and discover   some of Britain’s most glorious 
landscapes, come rain, come shine. The other amazing phenomenon that results 
from these kinds of showers is a rainbow. To see the history and culture of this great 
island, from furthest south to furthest north, no matter where the roads might take me.
Night mode activated. Sunset in the Cambrians. It’s beautiful, it’s getting dark.
So in April of 2025, I set out to ride from Lands End to John O’Groats. 1,700 kms 
and 17 days through the very best of Great Britain.
Platform 4 for the 06:00 Great Western Service to Penzance.
Bright and early one morning in April, my brother and I set out on the 6am train from 
London to Penzance, following the coast all the way down to the southwest tip of England, a 
stark and windy place known as Land’s End. Hello, spring has sprung, the days are getting 
longer. And today we are at the southwest corner   of England, at Lands End, on a very blustery day, 
about to start a very special adventure. Over the next two weeks, we’ll be cycling 1,700km to the 
very northeast corner of Scotland, a place called John O’Groats. It’s been a couple of months in 
the making, and it’s time to finally get going. Lands End and John O Groats are two 
of Britain’s geographical extremes,   and between them runs one of the UK’s classic 
cycling routes, known simply as LEJOG. The traditional route almost entirely avoids 
Wales, which has some of Britain’s best cycling. So I designed a new route, one that would take 
me from the start in south-west England, right   through the heart of Wales, and all the way up 
to the finish line in the far north of Scotland. It would be a challenging route through some 
of the most mountainous parts of Britain,   covering 1,700 kms in 17 days, with 
over 19,000 meters of climbing. So to help me out along the way, I’d be 
joined by friends and family. Starting   with my younger, much fitter brother Milo.
I’m at Land’s End. And I feel like I’m going to go into Presenter mode. The legs are good, I’ve 
had 3 days rest, I’m feeling pretty refreshed, I spent about two weeks carb loading for this.
Wind conditions today?  Windy
Windy it was, and the weather forecast was not looking good. 
So we quickly said our goodbyes to Land’s End,   and set out east through Cornwall, hoping to 
get to our hotel before the incoming storm. But we were almost immediately distracted 
by the idea of lunch in Mousehole,   a charming fishing village with a rich history 
as a hideaway for smugglers and their loot. Here, one food reigns supreme, the Cornish pasty: 
meat and potatoes stuffed inside a thick crust of pastry. Pasties were originally baked to take 
down the mines, but they double up as a perfect fuel for hungry cyclists.
It’s really good. Really hot.
While we ate, the weather began to turn. The headwind that we’d been battling 
all morning became stronger than ever, and by early afternoon the blue sky had abandoned us.
We’ve made it through Penzance, and now we’re on the coastal bike path, opposite St Michael’s 
Mount. And we are getting absolutely crushed by this wind. We’re right on the exposed coastline of 
Cornwall. It was meant to be a short day but we’re going to be on the bike for hours I think.
Then came the rain, soaking us through. It was a tough first day to the tour, and by 
the time we made it to our hotel Redruth,   we were chilled to the bone. It was only day 1 
and Cornwall had already thrown us our first test. Amazingly I wouldn’t see rain again for the next 
11 days, and as we set out on our second morning, heading east towards the cathedral-city of 
Truro, the sky was back to a brilliant blue. Today’s mission was to 
cross the spine of Cornwall,   from the south coast to the north. And for 
much of it we’d be riding the Camel Trail, a disused railway line that has been 
converted into a cycling and walking track.  We were away from the cars and sheltered from 
the wind by the forest all around us. The birds sang their spring songs and the Camel 
River trickled gently by. After the beating   we’d received on Day 1, this was bliss.
I’ve got a belly full of wine gums. The sun is shining. There’s really not 
much to complain about, so I shan’t. After leaving the Camel trail, we 
rode into the town of Tintagel,   where a whole ecosystem of gift shops and 
restaurants has popped up to celebrate Cornwall’s most famous export, the legend of King Arthur.
According to the myth, King Arthur was born at Tintagel Castle, the remains of which sit 
on a rocky headland just below the town. The castle may once have been 
the seat of mighty King Arthur,   but today it stands in ruins. Just like us, 
worn down by the ferocious winds of Cornwall. My legs are pretty cooked today.
We had made good progress over the first couple of days, and were starting Day 
3 at a quaint bed and breakfast overlooking   the north coast of Cornwall, home to an endless 
series of coves and beaches, and small fishing towns with boats at harbour. But as beautiful as 
the coastline looked beneath the April sun, once again we were riding straight into a headwind.
It is our third absurdly windy day in Cornwall. It just won’t let up. Both me and MIlo 
are hurting. I think I underestimated how difficult the start of this ride would be.
As we crossed from Cornwall and into Devon, my legs turned to jelly, and I was now beginning 
to doubt my ability to make it all the way   to Scotland. Luckily we had help on the way.
My name is Gabriele, everyone calls me Gabo. I came from London last night. This morning I cycled 
along the Tarka trail. I made some research, this is a very old trail. So nice, you’ll 
see lots of bridges here, a lot of caves. Gabo is an old friend of mine who’d 
snuck away from London for the weekend   to lend us a hand against the wind.
We had found him at the entrance to the Tarka trail, another old railway line that 
is now the UK’s longest carfree cycle path. We’d be following it for about 20 km until 
Bideford, a port town on the banks of the River Torridge, where we arrived just in 
time for the Saturday morning food market. What’ve you got bro?
I have a polish Kielbasa,   a load of mustard. Excuse my french. 
A bunch of onions, and some ketchup. And it is divine, sublime almost.
What do you think of this town, Bideford? I think Bideford has a good bit of food.
With our bellies full of Kielbasa, we continued east, and we could soon see the 
hills of Exmoor National Park rising ahead   of us. It was a stunning bit of riding. 
Largely empty of people and development, Exmoor is known for its dark skies and stargazing, 
and the roads over the moors were nearly deserted. Eventually we made it to the ever-so-romantic 
Exmoor Forest Inn, nestled in a sunlit valley in the heart of the national park. It had 
the quiet charm of a classic countryside pub, and dinner was all sourced off their own farm. 
Three cannons of lamb and three apple crumbles evaporated into our empty stomachs, and 
before the famous Exmoor stars had even   taken to the sky, we were fast, fast asleep.
I’ve only got today left. You have 13 days left. So, I’m feeling quite worried 
about you Oscar, because you’ve got a lot of hills ahead, but I’ve only got today.
I mean this is my second so can’t complain. But if you were to complain.
If I was to complain: my leg hurts, my lower   back hurts, for some reason my shoulders hurt, and 
I’m not carrying any backpacks. My calves hurt… It’s an absolutely glorious start to day 4. I woke 
up this morning with quite a lot of fatigue in the   legs, so I was a bit worried. And today is another 
hilly one but with the added bonus that the wind has finally dropped down, which makes everything 
that much easier. Unfortunately one bad bit of news is that this is the last day I’m cycling with 
Gabo and MIlo. They’re both going back to London, while I continue northwards, through Wales.
Gabo and Milo had been great company, and would be sorely missed for the rest 
of the ride. But there was little time to   dwell on that now, because we finally had some 
proper descending to do. Long sweeping roads through the edge of Exmoor National Park.
This riding is so much fun through Exmoor, so many good little wiggly roads 
and fast descents It’s great. Early-afternoon, we rolled into 
the town of Weston-Super-Mare,   situated on the English side of the Bristol 
Channel, and the end of my first leg through England. It had been a brilliant but gruelling 
four days and with just 400 kilometres ridden, I was already feeling exhausted.
Over tea and cakes I said goodbye   to Gabo and Milo, and began my journey 
across the Bristol Channel to Cardiff, where my adventure would continue the next 
day, north through the mountains of Wales. Wales is not usually included in the classic Lands 
End to John O’Groats Route. But it is one of my   favourite places to cycle: home to three great 
mountain ranges, a fiendishly difficult language, and some of the best roads in Britain.
But to get there, I first had to find   a way to cross the Bristol Channel from 
Weston-super-Mare to Cardiff. In my dream version of the trip I would have found someone 
with a boat to pilot me across the channel’s   turbulent waters. Unfortunately, no such person 
existed and instead I had to catch the train. We have made it to Wales. And I thought 
I’d be cycling solo for the next few days, but Mum has surprised me, and decided to 
tag along for this morning. Say Hi Mum. Hi there!
We got the train to Cardiff this   morning from Bristol, and stopped off at the Bike 
Lock Cafe, run by a lovely guy called Tom. Mum is well fueled on her porridge. I had an incredible 
fish finger sandwich. And now we’re cycling about 110km to the town of Builth Wells. And I’ll 
be cycling Wales for the next 3 or 4 days. Our route out of Cardiff followed the River Taff 
north along the Taff trail, which runs 90kms to the town of Brecon. It was another glorious 
morning for cycling, with the daffodils in   full bloom and the sky completely cloudless above 
us. Now that the wind had dropped, I couldn’t have asked for better conditions, but truth be told 
it was unseasonably warm and dry, and that warm weather was causing all sorts of weirdness.
There is something you don’t expect to see   in April in the UK. A big wildfire burning 
in the hills above the town of Pontypridd. This would not be the only wildfire I’d encounter 
on my tour. Across England, Wales and Scotland, the warm and dry weather had turned plants to 
tinder. April 2025 set a new record for the amount of land burned by wildfires in the United Kingdom, 
a visible reminder of our changing climate. As the sun above us baked the land, Mum and 
I continued north for 50 km until we reached the town of Merthyr Tydfil, once home to Wales’ 
booming iron and coal industries, and where the first ever steam train ran in the early 1800s. 
Much of our route followed the abandoned train lines that had once served those industries, 
long-since shuttered in post-industrial Britain. In Merthyr, mum and I parted ways, she 
back towards Cardiff, and me north into the increasingly hilly landscapes of Southern Wales.
And so we continue upwards, now on my own, solo for the next 5 days. Up into the Brecon 
Beacons and north for another 300km through Wales. Just finished the big climb of the day, over 
the Brecon Beacons, and now descending fast to Builth Wells. Just saw my first Welsh 
Sheeps. Many of them looking heavily, heavily pregnant. It is April, so I assume lambing 
season is around the corner for many of them. Today has been a lot of fun. A huge amount of 
fun. Those climbs, those descents. It makes you fall in love with cycling all over again.
And the day was about to get even better. Ohhh. Well if it isn’t Dad.
Well I guess that’s Oscar. Well met. Well met, sir.
On the road to Builth Wells Amazing. I’ve topped and tailed this day with both 
my parents. Mum cycling out with me this morning. And Dad’s just rocked up on his motorbike. 
I think we’re gonna get dinner together in Builth Wells. I imagine he’s had an amazing 
day of riding, just perfect. Almost there, 123km cycled now. Just a short while to go.
With the sun setting, I made it to Builth Wells, just in time for dinner with Dad. 
Built on the banks of the River Wye,   the town is famous for its livestock auctions, 
and was a popular spa town in the Victorian era. It had been a great day of riding, and I’d 
barely even scratched the surface of Wales. Day 6, and just leaving Builth Wells. And 
if you can’t tell by my bleary looking eyes, I’m pretty tired this morning. It was a long old 
day yesterday. But today’s an even bigger day, probably the biggest on paper at least of 
the entire trip. We’ve got 120km to go, and 2,000 meters of climbing 
over the Cambrian Mountain Range. I was largely following national Cycle Route 
8, which runs the length of Wales from south   to north. The route has the occasional bit 
of gravel to test your handling skills, but even in muddy conditions, it’s much better 
than the busy A-road that is the alternative. As I continued my journey northward, into the 
Cambrian mountains, the landscape became more   and more spectacular. But all was not 
right in this part of Wales in April, and once more I could see smoke rising.
I’m a bit worried now because just ahead of me is a huge wildfire and I don’t really 
know what to do at this point. I’m really hoping it doesn’t block my road. We’ll 
try not to do anything too stupid here, but it’s a bit worrying to see the Welsh 
countryside up in flames in mid April. The smoke could be seen across the horizon, and I 
was cycling straight towards it. As I got nearer, I flagged down a car going the opposite direction 
to check whether the road was safe to pass. I did not want to be stuck between smoke and fire with 
nothing to protect me but my bicycle. The driver assured me the road was safe, and so I continued 
upwards, ever higher into the Cambrian Mountains. With golden hour approaching, I made it to 
Machynlleth, the ancient capital of Wales.   I’d already cycled more than 100km, and if I’d 
been sensible, I would have stopped there and joined the locals in one of the town’s busy 
pubs. But I had another 30km still to go, over one last set of mountains.
I’d completely misjudged the timing,   and when I’d finally made it to the top 
of the last, ridiculously steep climb, night was falling, and I was 
still a long way from bed.  Night mode activated. Sunset in the 
Cambrians, it’s beautiful, it’s getting dark. No more filming now. Just straight onto 
Barmouth, just in time for bed, hopefully. It is the start of Day 7, and the beginning of 
the second week of the cycle. And today, cycling 95km from Barmouth to Ruthin. And taking on Wales’ 
third great mountain range. We’ve just entered the Snowdonia national park, and there’s going to be 
a lot of big, beautiful climbs later on today. But   first, the day starts with a 30km cycle along 
the beautiful western coast of northern Wales. The west coast of Wales is normally known for 
being one of the wettest places in Britain,   but on a day like today, this 
under-appreciated coastline has few rivals, and I was enjoying every bit of it.
I’d woken up late after my long evening in the Cambrians and was in desperate need of a 
coffee, which I found in a lovely little   cafe opposite the ruins of Harlech castle, built 
in the 13th century for a grand total of £8,200. From Harlech Castle, I turned away from the 
coast and up towards Snowdonia. Pinned between the mountains on one side, and the River Dwyryd 
on the other, it was a joyful morning of riding,   even as the land beneath my tires grew 
progressively steeper and steeper. I’ve been climbing for almost 10km 
now, up from the coast, through this most special of landscapes. It really is 
quite something, Snowdonia National Park. Even though centuries of deforestation and 
grazing have stripped Snowdownia of its trees,   I was enthralled by this landscape. The road 
beneath me was some of the best-surfaced of the whole trip, and seemed to serve no 
purpose other than to be ridiculously scenic, used by cyclists, motorbikes and 
drivers alike for the sheer joy of it. After battling one last set of rolling 
hills, I rolled into the town of Ruthin,   where I’d be spending the night at Ruthin 
Castle, its grounds filled with beautiful gardens and strutting peacocks, eager 
to show off their colourful plumes.  This was my last full day of riding 
in Wales. And despite the long days, brutal elevation and a couple of scares with 
forest fires, it had been a delight. The next day, I’d be back in England, trading the wilds 
of Wales for the busy suburbs of Liverpool. It is midway through Day 8 of the cycle, and 
I’ve just made the crossing out of Wales and back into England. Wales was tough this morning, 
there were a few last big hills to get over that really pushed me to my limits. I ended up walking 
the bike for a couple of little bits of it. But yeah now back in England, and skirting around 
Liverpool. First up is Chester, and then I finish tonight in Chorley. 112kms in all.
The next two days passed in a blur of heavy industry, Amazon warehouses and 
well-rivetted bridges. I treated myself   to a couple of bacon butties to keep me going, 
and in Preston found half the city queuing for jacket potatoes at The Spud Bros, not yet 
open but taking preorders at 9am. As well as a statue of Wallace and Gromit, dedicated 
to its creator and Preston-native, Nick Park. I’d enjoyed my time cycling alone, but after 
spending more time than is healthy chatting   to myself and my camera, I was ready for some 
company. And in Kendal, in the foothills of the Lake District I met my old school friend Richard, 
who was ready to join me on the last leg through Scotland and all the way to John O’Groats.
Hey Misa. Hello.
Would you like to read Master   and Commander by Patrick O’Brian?
Would you like me to take it? It is the start of day 10 , and look 
who we have with me: it’s Richard Deane. First stop is Lake Windemere, the 
largest lake in England. 10 miles long, and famously and unfortunately polluted by 
raw sewage with by the local utility company. Raw sewage aside, Richard and I had a relaxed 
first morning, dodging the Saturday traffic,   and making stops at Lake Windemere and Rydal Hall, 
once a haunt of the poet William Wordsworth. And after a grand total of 20km, we found the Great 
North Pie Company, where we had a butter pie with gravy and mushy peas — so densely calorific that 
we didn’t need to eat for the rest of the day. As we moved away from Lake Windemere, 
things began to quieten down, and we   found ourselves alone but for the landscapes that 
have inspired so many writers, poets and artists. I want to stop basically the 
entire time to film various bits,   but quite rightly Richard is getting annoyed 
at me for spending way too much time filming, but it is just such an incredible landscape. And 
what a way to leave England behind. Just a few tens of kilometres north of here, we will cross 
the border into Scotland, and really into the last week of riding to get up to John O’Groats.
The riding that day was the best I’d had in all of England, rivalled only by the mountains of 
Wales. Fuelled by pie and with Richard as company, I felt like we were in a good place. 
800km to go to finish the trip, but   with some of the toughest riding still to come.
As the light fades on day 10 of the cycle ride, so too does the light fade on England and our 
time here. We are 5kms now from the border with Scotland. From where our journey continues. 
It’s been a fab day in the Lake District. and who can forget about that pie?
Oh the pie, it haunts me still. Super fuel. It’s been a great day riding, 
and a pleasure to have Richard aboard. We’d made it at last to Scotland, the 
last country to tackle on our ride, and the most rugged section of the trip. Our day 
started in Gretna Green, which in the 18th century   was like the Las Vegas of Britain. Just over 
the border into Scotland, and with much looser   marriage laws than England to the south.
King Robert Bruce, from foes pursuant It’s one of three caves that Robert the Bruce 
may have hidden. These guys reckon it’s the one. It’s a nice cave.
Yeah  Good ceiling height, you could rent 
this for about £900 a month in London. Hahhhhhhhh
Satisfying  Very nice.
Bah-Bahhhhhhh We’d made it at last to Scotland, the last 
country to tackle on our ride and the most   rugged section of the trip. Our day started out 
in Gretna Green which in the 18th century was like the Las Vegas of Britain. Just over 
the border into Scotland and with much   looser marriage laws than England to the South.
Crossing the border, the weather seemed to have turned on us. It was suddenly much colder, and 
above us hung big fat clouds that looked ready   to drop a week’s worth of rain. But the cool 
weather also meant we wouldn’t have to worry about Scotland’s most aggressive inhabitant, the 
midges, which love to nibble on the exposed skin of visitors to Scotland in the summer months.
When it did finally start raining, we found food and shelter at the Moffat farmers market, which 
was selling fine cheeses, whiskeys and traditional Scottish pizzas.
Filthy  Yes. Cheesy. First taste of 
proper Italian Scottish Pizza. Just south of Glasgow we met the River Clyde, 
where Richard decided it was time to tap into   his Scottish roots by singing an old folk ballad.
This is a song about parents and their iron fist. It’s called The Drowned Lovers.
Willie sits in his stable door  And he’s combing his coal-black steed,
And he’s doubting on fair Margaret’s love And his heart began to bleed
Give corn unto my horse, mother,  And meat to my man John,
And I’ll away to fair Margaret’s bower Before the night comes on.
Oh stay at home with me, dear Willie,  Oh stay at home with me,
And the very best cock in all the roost For your own supper shall be.
With Richard’s pretty little ditty stuck in my   head for the rest of the day, we made it the final 
few kilometres to Hamilton, a town just south of Glasgow. It was late, and little was open except a 
truly excellent Thai restaurant called Pad T’Aye, whose owner Liam had learned to become a chef 
during the covid lockdowns. We went to bed with bellies full, legs replenished and spirits 
high, after a good first foray into Scotland. Scotland is home to almost 6 million people, one 
tenth of whom live in the country’s largest city: Glasgow. Glasgow is the gateway to the lochs 
and highlands, and some of the most beautiful   landscapes Britain has to offer. It is a city 
of big characters and even bigger pastries. It’s the size of his face!
Look at this guy. Look at this guy.  Well most of it
After breakfast at Outlier we cut northwest out of Glasgow, following the Clyde and 
Forth canal path towards Loch Lomond, the largest lake in Great Britain. The weather was behaving, 
the cherry blossoms were out in full force, and as we made it to the banks of Loch Lomond, it was 
shaping up to be another great day for cycling. Loch Lomond was formed by glaciers between 10 and 
20 thousand years ago, and marks the start of the Highlands, the mountainous landscape that runs 
right to the top of Scotland. The lake has 23 main islands, including one that is home to a colony of 
wallabies that were introduced from Australia by a speedboat-racing aristocrat in the 1940s.
Its banks have inspired songs, books and films, and it’s easy to see why.
This is so absurdly lovely, cycling along the west coast of Loch Lomond. Such a good day for 
it, beautiful roads, beautiful loch, beautiful landscape. I’m having such a good time here.
At the far end of Loch Lomond, we stopped for a drink at the Drovers Inn, built in the early 
1700s and filled with taxidermy and relics of the clans that once ruled this area.
We had now well and truly passed into   the Highlands, and when we awoke the next 
morning, it was to heavy drizzle, and views of the mountains freshly crowned in snow.
It’s a really rainy start to Day 13, we’re in full waterproofs today. We’re 
gonna cycle 10km now, get some breakfast. Then hopefully sit out the worst of the weather. 
Because right now it is 4°C, raining, quite windy, and just a little bit cold. But hey it’s Scotland. 
Beautiful, beautiful Scotland. What do you expect? We were on our way to Glencoe, and the start of 
a particularly mountainous section of the route,   and the weather did not look promising. It was 
cold and wet, and we started off feeling quite miserable. Richard was less than impressed with 
my requests to film the scenery in the rain,   and powered ahead to what would 
be a transformative breakfast. How’s the general weather situation today?
It’s brightening up. You’re in such a good mood since breakfast.
Yeah, since food arrived. Richard was right. It was brightening 
up, and once we’d had our fill of black   pudding and made it back outside, the sun 
was beginning to break through the clouds. We were about to ride 100km right through 
Glencoe, the mountainous heart of Scotland. In good weather, Glencoe is one of 
the most gorgeous places on Earth,   sculpted over millions of years by glaciers, wind, 
rain and the footfall of countless armies marching to battle. In bad weather, it can be brutal, the 
landscape lost to the elements. When I woke up to rain that morning, I prepared for the worst, 
but Scotland was about to give us its best. And the weather has cleared!! It is once again 
sunny, as we continue through the Highlands, towards Glencoe now, the mist and the clouds still 
clinging to the high peaks. But down here in the valley, it’s absolutely gorgeous. What a day to 
be here, really couldn’t have asked for better. This is my favourite place. I’m so happy 
to be here. Just incredible. It’s always sunny in Scotland, don’t let 
anyone tell you otherwise. After a near perfect crossing through Glencoe. We 
have made it down to the west coast of Scotland and are fast approaching Fort William. It’s been 
a wonderful day. A really, really wonderful day. I can’t quite believe I’ve cycled all the way 
to Fort William from Cornwall. Approaching 1,400km now. And this is the furthest 
north I’ve ever been in the UK. From tomorrow onwards, it’s into the great unknown.
It was a beautiful evening in Fort William, as the sun set over the west coast of Scotland. But 
when we awoke, a familiar chill had returned. And as was now tradition, we responded in the only way 
we knew how, by finding the best bakery in town. This is the true cyclist’s breakfast. Chocolate 
éclair, with cream. We’ve done 200 meters Fort William sits on the west coast 
of Scotland at the base of Ben Nevis,   the UK’s tallest mountain. It is at one end 
of the Great Glen, a nearly 100km geological fissure that runs diagonally across Scotland, 
from Fort William all the way to Inverness. Through the middle of the Glen runs the 
Caledonian Canal, which connects two of   Scotland’s great lochs: Loch Lochy and 
Loch Ness, home to the eponymous monster. And running beside the lochs is the Great Glen 
Way, a walking route that doubles as a car-free cycle path for almost 100-kilometres. The cycling 
felt the most remote of any I had done all trip, and we barely met anyone all day. It was gorgeous, 
lonely riding, but as we climbed the hills above Loch Ness I was starting to feel the wear 
and tear of the last two weeks on the bike.  I cannot tell you how sore my bum is today. It’s 
like sitting on a couple of drawing pins, and they’re just stuck straight into my buttcheeks. 
Day 14, the day things started to fall apart. By the time me and my very sore bottom made 
it to the northeastern tip of Loch Ness,   the weather had turned to rain again, and I was 
feeling exceptionally jealous of the Highland cows and their shaggy fur. We entered Inverness soaked, 
cold and hungry after a tough day of riding, but somehow still in good spirits.
He can still jump. He can still jump. Time for bed and shower and bath and food.
And food! Don’t forget food. We’re not… food! After 15 days on the bike, I was keen for 
distraction, so after making myself feel   very sick on the spinning disk in a playground, 
we paid a visit to the Glenmorangie Distillery, which has been brewing and distilling alcohol of 
some form or another since the early 1700s, and is most famous for its whiskey. Dressed in our smelly 
cycling clothes, we felt out of place amongst the well heeled clientele of the distillery, so we 
picked up a couple of tasting bottles to celebrate   at the finish line, and hurried on north.
We were just a couple of days from the finish now, and had moved into a more coastal zone, crossing 
the long bridge over the Donorch Firth. Overhead, the weather couldn’t quite decide what to 
do, and kept flitting between heavy rain   and beautiful spells of sunshine that would just 
about dry us out before we were soaked once more. We are now moving into a uniquely British 
form of weather, known as April showers, where it can be sunny one minute, rainy the next, 
sunny again, rainy again. Really wet, really cold. But the other thing that results from these 
kinds of showers, is a rainbow. We’re cycling now towards a beautiful rainbow, and it is really 
quite superb. Scotland welcoming us to the north. Before starting this trip I didn’t have high 
expectations for this part of Scotland. I’d   assumed once we were through Glencoe and 
past Loch Ness, the best would be behind us, but this north-east corner of the 
country was fast winning me over.  It is jaw-droppingly beautiful, with dramatic 
weather, magnificent castles, and the kind of long, golden-sand beaches that would be world 
famous if the water was warmer than about 5°C. Sadly, we were also approaching the end-stage 
of our tour, and had just two days left to ride. Good morning from day 16, the penultimate day of 
riding, our last big day on the bikes. Today we’re going from Golspie to Thurso, and the half part 
of our route goes along the absolutely sublime north east coast of Scotland, which makes up 
part of the North Coast 500 mile trail. And on a day like today when the sun is out, the sea 
is blue, the clouds are far away on the hills, it is absolutely gorgeous, the beaches 
are really stunning, golden sounds stretching out as far as the eye can see.
The sea was too cold to swim this early in the year, but still enticing enough for a bracing 
dip, our toes turning numb in the waters of   the North Sea. On the horizon we could see the 
offshore wind turbines standing like sentinels, sending clean power back to land. 
And when we got back on our bikes,   inland was proving equally lovely, a thick carpet 
of yellow gorseflower coating the rolling hills. Richard had walked a section of this route a 
few years earlier, and knew of a quaint little   restaurant called The River Bothy, located in a 
valley at the bottom of one particularly steep hill. It’s the kind of cozy place that you’ve 
once sat down you never really want to leave. Scones are the lifeblood of 
this trip, kept us fuelled.  Yup. Every time we find a scone, 
it makes Oscar infinitely happy. It’s just a much better day 
if you have a scone involved.  And what a scone.
What a scone. And 5 times zoom on the 
sign, it’s the River Bothy. After one last set of climbs, we moved into 
a particularly austere and sparsely populated   stretch of Scotland called the Flow Country, 
also known as Europe’s largest boggy peatland. The landscape seemed drained of colour and 
people, tugging at my last reserves of energy.   In moments like this I was very glad to 
have the company of Richard, constantly chipper and revelling in the madness that 
inevitably appears on any long distance cycle. Together forever with you. And don’t you know 
I would move heaven and earth to be together   forever with you.
Aww, with me? At last we made it to Thurso, the most 
northerly town on the British mainland,   deserted apart from the locally chip ship, 
which seemed to be hosting the entire town. So we did what any good Thursonite would do in 
our situation. We bought a huge plate of fish   and chips and macaroni and cheese, and 
took it down to the beach for our final dinner of the trip. The finish line was 
just 30km away now, almost within reach. It is the morning of Day 17, and the final 
push to the finish line, just 30kms to go to John O’Groats. And then we’ll be done with this 
magnificent adventure along the entire length of Great Britain. I’m going to be very happy 
to be done. My body’s in a bit of a physical mess right now. I can feel the exhaustion 
of 17 days on the bike rapidly creeping up. Truth be told, this ride had been 
much harder than I’d expected,   and it was time for a good long rest. But 
first we had to make it to the finish line. As I pushed myself through the last 30km 
my mind wandered to all I’d experienced. Over 17 days, I’d cycled more than 1,700 
kilometres and climbed almost 20,000 metres through some of the most beautiful parts of Great 
Britain. I had been joined by some of my favourite   people, as I’d been pushed to my limits by the 
winds of Cornwall, found myself almost trapped by Welsh wildfires, and eaten my weight in 
pastries. Our crossing of the snow-capped mountain passes of Glencoe is up there with some 
of the best riding I’ve ever had. Living in London it is far too easy to forget about Britain’s 
natural places, but this trip had reminded   me of the wonders of the island I call home.
But now the finish line at John O’ Groats was calling to me, the northeastern shore of Scotland 
and the end of our grand tour. 30 more kilometres to call this trip complete.
Yup. Hope you got that.
I did.