The adventure continues!

Its funny that after cycling the length of britain, we did not face our greatest challenge until after all the pedalling was done!

Despite our best efforts to reserve bike space for the return journey three weeks previously, the exercise had proven inconclusive due to our thoroughly un-integrated rail service.

So at eight o'clock on Saturday morning, we received the good news at wick station that the bikes wouldn't be allowed on the train!

Things were looking pretty grim as we had another train to catch from inverness at twelve and no chance of making it via the next train. An extra night in Scotland beckoned.

Who do cycling hero's turn to when they need a saviour of their own?

The guard at wick station said he knew of a man who could do a job for us and hit the batphone.

Step forward Ronnie of Millars Wick and his bike trailer for hire! I must admit to being a little sceptical when our 68 year old knight in shining armour pulled in at wick station in his kia seddona. Images of driving miss daisy and a 30 mph crawl along the A99 while the clock ticked down played back in my head.

Ten minutes later, my doubts were extinguished as our 106 mile taxi ride took on the look and feel of a test lap at the nurburgring as ronnie started bombing down the windy single carriage ways at a scenery melting pace, expertly cutting the racing line and overtaking other cars. Turns out that ronnie likes his motors, having had a career as an army ambulance driver and a Focus Sti in the garage at home. Also turns out that he used to be partial to 180 mile bike rides to glasgow and edinburgh back in the day. How is it that everyone that we seem to meet on this trip is tougher in the saddle than us?

Ronnie beat the train by an hour and a half. Nice driving!

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Hot off the press - first thoughts

When asked how they felt about completing their epic ride, team spongebob responded;

"elated" - the westranator

"I feel nothing" - Simon

So the full spectrum of emotions going on there!
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The beagle has landed

Sometimes a picture says more than a thousand words.

We did it!

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Day 13 - running out of road

Team spongebob woke to a hearty breakfast and also to the sight of our b&b host, Alistair, serving a perfect porridge in full sporan and kilt. Now this kind of behaviour might have been considered a little strange back in London, but out here in the tranquil surroundings of loch ness, it harked back to a simpler, more innocent time, when breakfast was an occasion worth dressing up for and men had no need for underpants.

After breakfast, Alistair changed back to t shirt and jeans and bade us a fond farewell, also revealing that he was CID for thirty years - so there you go, we'd spent the night in safe hands, or possibly with a fantasist who liked to dress up.

Today's route was a straightforward traverse north east along the lochs until we hit the east coast of scotland at Golspie. We took the quiet back roads all the way, riding three abreast and savouring the rolling hills around us.

The road sign near Golspie confirmed that we are rapidly running out of road, with only 76 miles left to go. There were times during the grim bits up north where we felt like our End to End experience was dragging on a bit, but having experienced the beautiful scenery and hospitality Scotland, i'll be a little sorry to see it all come to an end on Friday afternoon.

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Day 12 - along the great glen

Dodgy reception at Loch Ness meant that we were unable to put up a blog last night.

Here are some pics from yesterday. We took a twenty five mile detour around loch leven before riding the sixty odd miles along the great glen to drumnadrochit on the banks of loch ness.

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Day 11 - In to the Lochs

We woke up at the ungodly hour of 630 and stumbled, bleary eyed, to catch the first ferry north out of Arran. Todays ride to Glencoe promised to be the longest of the fortnight at something between 95 to 100 miles.

The previous days soaking had dampened the spirits somewhat and we all sat in silence during the thirty minute crossing, contemplating the day ahead.

Little did we know, a fantastic, memorable day of riding lay ahead. While we didn't avoid the rain altogether, we stayed largely dry and were rewarded with coastal scenery that increased in grandeur the further north we headed.

Conscious of the distance, we ploughed on without stopping until the town of Oban, sixty miles in. After a quick lunch, the spongebob train hit town and we went all out with an adrenaline fuelled run over the last thirty.

The past few days have been a mixed bag, but its moments like these, riding with deep legs in surroundings so beautiful that you can hardly believe you're still in the uk, that remind you of what its all about.






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Day 10 - Isle of Arran

Although the first sixty miles of day ten was a soul destroying slog through freezing rain, we had some satisfaction from the ferry journey over to the isle of Arran, where we dried off and refuelled on coffee and carrot cake.

Once we had disembarked at Arran, we soft pedalled for nine miles around the island's east coast until the road moved in land and revealed the sting in its tail that we had been forewarned of. A three hundred meter climb lay between us and our hotel in lochranza. With panniers bulging with food for the next day, we ground our way up on tired legs. At the summit, we were rewarded with stunning views of...nothing...the cloudline had descended and a grey impenetrable mist was all that could be seen.

An early night beckons as we have an 815 ferry to catch on tuesday morning to take us north on to the mainland and then our longest leg of the journey at one hundred miles to glencoe.

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Day 10 - when it stops being fun

We woke to the sound of driving rain, and had breakfast to the sound of bbc weather telling us about more driving rain to come. We put on our dry and freshly laundered cycling kit and for five precious minutes felt almost human again before we stepped outside of our cottage and embraced the rain.

The cyclists among you can probably guess what kind of a day we had after that...
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Day 9 - Scotland

We left Carlisle on functional but ugly A-roads, crossing the border in to Scotland at Greta Green, famous for its quickie marriages for under age couples. Fortunately for our other halves, we exited the town with our bachelor statuses intact.

Cue more unattractive a-roads, it was not until the final twenty miles in the run in to St Johnston that we finally started to see some of the stunning scenery that scotland's famous for.

Our kindly hosts offered to do a wash for us upon our arrival. Within thirty seconds team spongebob were butt naked with panniers also emptied of all washable kit. Thom barely remembered to put on his remaining pair of pants before handing over a groaning laundry basket to our bemused hosts.

Six hundred and twenty miles on the clock now. We've broken the back of the ride but the 'Queen Stage' is yet to come...

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Booyakasha!

Cyborg killing machine Thomas Westran caused a minor sensation at the scottish border town of Dumfries when he was mistaken for Ali G.

Westran was assimilating a cappuccino and blueberry muffin outside cafe nero when he was spotted by local youths and mistaken for the popular west side rapper. Within minutes the town centre, which has not seen a c-list celebrity since Timmy Mallet's opening of an Argos superstore in 2001, was awash with eager autograph hunters.

"I find it strange and illogical that the humans develop an emotional connection with lines of ink on a piece of paper." commented the Westranator "However, I soon realised the opportunity that this would provide me to study the humans in more detail."

"Somehow, seeing the happiness that this brought to their little organic faces led me to consider my own prime directive. Maybe I was created for a greater purpose than crushing my enemies under my legs of steel. Booyakasha. Peace out."


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Day 8 - Cumbria and beyond

If day 7 had been a short and un-memorable escape out of the urban sprawl of the mersey, day 8 more than made up for it in distance and scenery.

Our route for the day took us out of garstang and threaded a northerly course between the Yorkshire dales and the lake district to our destination at Carlisle. The clouds came in low and the rain fell, but it only served to add more drama to the lush rolling hills and the brooding peaks to the east and west of us. This is good cycling country.
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The Westranator meets his creator

Day eight saw us move in to Cumbria, reputedly the Westranator's place of manufacture.

As soon as we crossed the border, the westranator's return to base program kicked in. Rather endearingly, the mindless killing machine began to loopback a message about needing to meet his 'father'.

Of course, robots don't have fathers, but cyberdyne had arranged for 'father', an engineer called Andy, to rendez vous with us at kirkby lonsdale and give the westranator his twenty thousand mile service.

We kept up the father/son charade while andy rode along with us and ran his analytics on the machine. He's good for another ten thousand apparently, though his humour and dancing circuits are stuck on old firmware and effectively non functioning. That explains a lot, really.

Above pic - 'father', son and suv


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Hats off to our fellow lejog'er John

We were about fifty miles in to day eight when we encountered the unlikely sight of a young man in civies on an old bike, fully laden with panniers, tent and several other assorted bits of luggage, pedalling furiously to catch us up.

Who could this young whippersnapper be? A local lad riding to the next town for a night of fishing and camping? Trying it on with the pro's for a mile or two until he fizzed out like a cheap firework?

Curious, we hailed our lone traveller and struck up a conversation. It turns out that John from Stanmore was just eighteen years old and was also riding lejog. Unlike us pampered credit card tourists, he was doing it in the old school way - hundred miles a day, camping under bridges and barns, gas stove for diner. And all that on an old but sturdy hybrid that cost him the princely sum of thirty quid and probably weighed more than two of ours put together.

We rode with john for thirty miles until he found a good spot to camp for the night, and we learnt how his riding partner had crashed and broke his arm within fifteen minutes of leaving the start line, leaving him to do the whole ride solo and unsupported.

Anyway, hats off to John, who proves that you don't need all the gear to ride an end to end, just plenty of heart and a taste for adventure!

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B&B fail number two

We woke up early today and got put of dodge city like a bat out of hell. Having picked the most direct route north and cracking on with some vigour, we arrived at our next stop, in Garstang, at the unprecedented early time of 2pm.

Oh joy! A rare afternoon of leisure beckoned! We could take a relaxing team bath, re-shave those legs, all the little things that roadies like to do in their down time.

Unfortunately, the Ashdene B&B failed to get the memo. We arrived to find the doors locked and nobody in. Three hours later still no joy. Still, at least we get to work on our already ridiculous farmers tans while we wither away under the blazing sun.

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Day 6 - Team Spongebob flees the West Bank

All journeys have an end. Unfortunately, some journeys have to end at Widnes.

When I was booking the B&B's a few months back, I saw Widnes with its river side location on the banks of the mersey and imagined a gleaming water front retreat.

Unfortunately I must have missed the entry in my guide book which quotes 'a vast ocean of ugliness, hopelessly, helplessly depressing, miles of dereliction'. Blimey.

Having weaved our way northwards along the welsh marshes earlier in the day, we got our first taste of the horrors to come as we made a buttock clenching dash across the queensway bridge in to widnes. Having braved the dual carriageway and rush hour traffic we found ourselves deposited in to what appeared to be an industrial wasteland, piles of scrap lay several stories high with the flags of st george flapping forlornly in the wind.

Rather worryingly, the gps showed us to be within six hundred meters of the hotel. As shaven headed youths with potatoes for faces shouted abuse at us from their vauxhall corsas we suddenly felt like aliens, our brightly coloured kit only serving to mark us out even more from our drab surrounds. Four hundred meters, we were still in the hell hole, two hundred meters we were getting closer...it was like that scene from Alien. Oh my god, its right on top of you!!!

And there it was, The hotel Mersey, our home for the night, undeniably and emphatically right in the middle of this mess. The spot was called the West Bank and it might as well have been the Gaza Strip for all the sense of unease that it instilled in us. We were greeted by a drunken punter who was shouting something unintelligible about us getting run over.

We took one look at each other and fled the west bank. We'd already done eighty miles and had no back up plan, but we wanted to be far, far away from this place and its intimidating inhabitants. There was talk of riding to the next town and trying our luck. In the end, we made it about two miles down the road where we found a travel lodge amidst a retail complex.

So here we are writing the team blog from our soulless but safe lodgings. Not quite what we had in mind when we started this great British bicycle adventure, but better days lie ahead...

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Day 5 - a short long day

This one had been billed as a 76 miler, but with some big, hilly days looming, we opted to take a more direct route which cut things down to sixty.

Cyclists tend to obsess about the weather and once again we were miraculously lucky today, passing several places bearing the signs of recent showers but not getting caught ourselves. Thom grudgingly conceded that the hour of extra faffing in the morning had probably got us in to the right weather window.

Days 4 and 5 have been treated like recovery rides after the tough journey across cornwall and devon. Legs are starting to feel good again and everyone should be going well after a good nights sleep.

Having hopped the border back in to england, we spend the night in church stretton in shropshire. Tomorrows leg will see us in to liverpool or thereabouts. The miles and the towns are becoming one big blur now, its a little mind boggling to think that we'll be 'oop north' when we struggling on the cornish curtsies just a few days ago.

Went for a Chinese tonight. Whenever I meet chinese in small regional towns I always feel a strong urge to embrace them and thank them for defending their lonely outpost on behalf of the motherland. Managed to keep things business like and ordered a kung po chicken with extra boiled rice.

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By special request

Today's blog is dedicated to my gorgeous girlfriend Si Phong, who has been dutifully reading it every morning in spite of the crap commentary and the occasional half arsed attempts at humour.

As our only known reader, I've asked her how we could expand our readership. More sleaze, more smut and more nudity was her answer.

Well, what the people want, team spongebob delivers. So here's a hot off the press pap shot of thom standing in front of a hedge.


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Day 4 - a long short day

Today saw us pass through cheddar gorge, the mendips, bristol and cross the severn bridge in to wales. We then snaked our way west of the wye valley before a screaming descent in to monmouth.

On paper, todays ride should have been a short one at sixty five miles, but with the many changes in scene, it felt like an epic. We finished the ride with seventy on the clock and a good couple of hours later than we had planned.

Thom got the first puncture of the expedition and it was a goodun. His rear tyre was ruined after a meeting with an unknown but large and sharp object. Fortunately we were not far from a decent bike shop who sorted us out.

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Day 3 - Glastonbury

It always ends with a hill! Or so we grumbled as we ground our way up to the fourth b&b. It'll be interesting to see if the trend continues!

At eighty miles, today was the longest so far. With this in mind, we opted to take the A-roads in order to keep the miles ticking. The first half of the day continued in the up and down fashion of the previous two days, but as we entered Somerset the roads became flatter and we sensed the opportunity for an early bath. A quick lunch stop with rusty the dog, followed by a team time trial over the last thirty miles and we were done by four.

We'll be spending the night in Glastonbury. Its a strange place, all the locals seem to be wearing fancy dress!
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Day 2 - in to Devon

A nice, short second day. Unfortunately the hills didn't ease up as we worked our way further along the Cornish coast before heading inland in to Devon and skirting along the borders of dartmoor national park towards our overnight stop in okehampton.

The skies were looking ominous over the breakfast table, but thankfully held out.

During the ferry journey between padstow and rock, the Westranator began to shed some light on his weighty rig. Not only had he packed for a fortnight of cycle touring, he also appeared to have brought along the contents of a small car boot sale just for laffs. And while it could be argued that a brolly could come useful if it rained, and that a sewing kit could liven up an otherwise dull evening in a B&B with the joys of embroidery, I dread to think what the latex gloves and lubricants are for...
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He aint heavy, he's my brother

Loaded touring is an exercise in minimalism. When each possession must be winched up every hill, every item carried must earn its keep. Some even go to the lengths of cutting their toothbrushes in half in order to save those precious grams.

Not the Westranator.

At the pre-ride weigh in, his mighty rig drew gasps of amazement from all who attempted to lift it. Simon, with his �����tiny vestigal arms barely even managed to raise it off the ground.

What weapons of mass destruction could this man machine be concealing within those panniers that should weigh him down so? And what dark arts allowed him, even so encumbered, to dance past us on every hill?

I'm sure that all will be revealed in the following weeks...



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Day 1 - Post Ride

It was a good day. The sun shone and a friendly westerly wind blew us all the way from Lands End to Margwan Porth where we spent the night.

Even the infamous Cornish coastal hills, or curtsies as they are also know, didn't cause too much of a problem on fresh legs and low gears. When gravity took us the other way, we spent the first few hours descending tentatively on our fully laden bikes, but by the end of the day it was the usual view of Simon's rear in the air as he crouched in to the aero tuck.

Let's hope the next nine hundred and fifty miles will be as pleasant!

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Day 1 - le grande depart!

This update comes a day late due to lack of reception. Here's a shot of the famous sign, a full write up to follow this evening.


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Spongebob are go!

Spongebob are go!!!

After a torturous drive down to cornwall, we are finally at our digs at Penzance and ready for the grande depart on saturday morning.

Those of you who follow professional cycling will be well aware of team spongebob and our exploits in last years tour de France. For those of you who don't, here's a quick walk through the team sheet:

Thom aka the westranator - part man, part machine, he climbs like a mountain goat and descends like an eagle. Bakes a mean cake, but he's not a sharer.

Simon - has the body of a small child, but copious amounts of hair in all the wrong places. Easily the best baker of the bunch.

Ming - if spongebob were the A-team he'd probably be Face. Prefers to buy his cakes from sainsburys.






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Tools for the job

Here she is, built up just in the nick of time. Big thanks to the guys at lynskey cycle works for sorting me out with this handbuilt titanium beauty! Its a lynskey Sportive, I believe that I have the first one ever made!
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Hello World

Welcome to my blog!

Over the coming weeks, I'll be posting updates of our cycle ride from Lands end to John O'Groats.