Greetings from John O'Groats

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The last day started much as the first one had at Land's End; Grey, cool and misty. As we went out across the bridge onto the A9, the sign informed us we had 120 miles to John O'Groats. The first miles were rather uninspiring as we ground north through the damp Scottish morning. The only highlight being our first and only puncture which took two inner tubes to fix and then onto Tain for breakfast after 37 miles.

The next 43 miles to our lunch stop were much improved, the sun came out, the road swept down to run along the coast and the collection of interesting aches and pains seemed to abate. In fact the morning proved so excellent, we completely lost the plot and visited the Clynelish distillery, and after sampling their delights we returned to the bikes feeling no pain. At Helmsdale, our choice of restaurant was heavily influenced by the advice Chris received from probably the only transvestite in Caithness who seemed transfixed by the idea of wearing tight lycra shorts for a week. It somehow followed, therefore that our lunch stop, La Mirage, was owned by an apparently famous Barbara Cartland look alike who had passed away the week before. The place was clearly in mourning and we felt moved to consume our fish and chips quickly under the watchful gaze of the 'other Barbara's' publicity photographs.

The next 36 miles to Wick was unexpectedly the most testing of the whole week. A combination of tired limbs, the wrong kind of food at lunch, scotch and some of the steepest climbs and descents proved very challenging and actually a great way to bring our adventure to a close. After a brief stop in Wick, a rather shabby place that had clearly seen better days, we completed our final 17 miles to John O'Groats through a strong head wind and drizzle.

The majority of the material you read from End to End cyclists on the final destination will typically include phrases such as "You should not underestimate what a dump John O'Groats is..." and we wouldn't disagree. We got some photos taken by the famous sign which oddly stated 874 miles to Land's End, exactly the same distance our trip computers showed.

We felt a certain satisfaction when we met a team of End to Enders all dressed in their designer cycling jerseys and revelling in their athletic prowess having completed their journey in 10 days. "How long did it take you guys" they enquired, eyeing Graham's 20 year old gardening fleece with disdain. They looked rather crest fallen when we told them and went off to stroke their frightfully expensive titamium bikes.