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The Trip Home

Wick to Perth and Perth to Hinckley

It was cold and windy as I set off on Tuesday morning.  I had the option of either cycling to Wick or to Thurso to pick up the train – distance wise there wasn’t much in it, Thurso being about 15 miles and Wick 20.  I had all morning and as the wind was forecast to be from the WNW I opted for the longer route to Wick rather than battle into the wind after Monday’s experience.  The forecast was not quite right as the wind was more from the WSW and therefore more of a cross wind but I think I still benefited from going this way.

There was not a lot to see at Wick.  In fact last nights landlord commented on the fact that I was going there saying that the people in Wick always looked miserable.  I needed to stock up on food for two days of travel and the local Safeway satisfied this need.  I then had time for coffee before going to board the train – certainly the café was nothing to write home about.

I had twenty minutes to spare at Wick station.  Not many people boarded the train here but when we got to Thurso about ½ hour later there was a big influx of people.  My peace was disturbed by 3 walkers who came to sit in the seats opposite me and across the corridor.  There was one man and two ladies all about my age.  They were carrying huge backpacks.  The first thing I noticed was that the chap got very agitated and stormed up the corridor to complain at someone who has moved his backpack so that they can fit more luggage in.  It turns out that he has an open carton or bottle of milk in the backpack and he was worried that this might have been overturned.  How were the other passengers to know this!  The younger woman – probably in her mid 50’s – proceeds to rearrange the contents of her backpack.  This whole process takes over an hour and life changing decisions are taken as to whether to wash used plastic bags, whether to keep food containers (the sort that you buy food in at the supermarket – not the Tupperware type) etc.  Mr. ‘walker’ and Ms. ‘walker’ don’t always agree on the strategy.  Numerous trips are made to the loo to wash said receptacles and then they are hung out over the backpack to dry.  What a palaver!  2 hours into the journey Ms ‘walker’ started up a conversation with me.  She had just shared a box of strawberries with her friend Mr. ‘walker’ but he had to follow strict instructions to eat the ripe ones first as they were keeping some to later.  By the way, she had been sharing a one man tent with him over the last few days – cosy!  She then picks out a strawberry from the pot and offers it across the corridor to Ms. ‘marathon walker’ (for reasons which will become clear) saying “This has got a slight blemish on it – would you like it?”  It was the only one that she was offered!  She accepted graciously.

They were very interested to hear what I had done and as you have already guessed Ms ‘marathon walker’ had just completed the end to end walk which had taken over 80 days.  This was a far greater feat than mine.  She looked to be about mid 60’s but maybe the strains and stresses of recent months had taken their toll.  She must have been carrying in excess of 40 pounds in her backpack – which included a tent and basic cooking equipment.  She also turned out to be the editor of “The Backpack” magazine.  Her two friends had seen her off at Land’s End in March 2003 but due to a stress fracture she had had to abandon the trip at Cheltenham .  She resumed the walk in March of this year and eventually got to John o’ Groats in mid May.  The three of them had walked the last few days together and had then spent a weekend on the Orkney’s to celebrate.

Having finished this walk they were now going, straight away, to the venue for their AGM in West Scotland, which apart from the formal business also involved more walking in the Highlands from Fort William to Inverness and finishing off in Drumnadochy (or however you spell it!).  The conversation continued on and off for the rest of the journey and it certainly helped to pass the time.  For part of the time the line follows the east coast with magnificent views on the way – I managed to see some Eider along this stretch.  The train eventually arrived in Inverness – almost dead on time – and off we got. 

The train to Perth was due in 45 minutes.  Another cyclist seemed to know that this train was in fact the same one that we had just arrived on – we only had to disembark to allow it to be cleaned.  He helped me unload my things and it turns out that he has just completed the west coast route from Glasgow to John o’ Groats.  He was on his way back to meet a friend at Glasgow and then they were going to cycle to Land’s End .  It still surprises me how few end to enders I have met.

And so to Perth where I soon found the B&B that I had booked a week ago.  It was only to be a fleeting visit as the train arrived in the evening at 7pm and the train to Glasgow in the morning left at 8am.  There was no problem with the bike on any of these three trains – the trains were two or three carriage affairs and the cycle compartments were easy to find.  I should have also said that my nights sleep at Perth was one of the best I had had for a while.  It wasn’t that I was worn out from cycling but being in the town I wasn’t woken at crack of dawn by the dawn chorus.  Another thing that I have noticed is that even though I have been nowhere near the Artic Circle, the sun never sets enough below the horizon to give a dark sky.  If I woke in the middle of the night the sky would still be light in the north.

It was only a short journey to Glasgow Queens.  I then had to make my way to Glasgow central for the train which left about ½ hour later – the ticket collector gave me instructions on how to get there.  They seemed straight forward enough – “take the second on the right”.  So off I went looking for the second on the right.  There were lots of lanes to the right which I assumed he had not included in his instructions.  Eventually about 300 yards down the road I came to a T junction – I could only assume that he meant me to turn here.  After another 200 yards I came to what appeared to be a railway bridge over the road, and lo and behold, here was the entrance to Glasgow Central up a flight of stairs.  I was running slightly late so I didn’t bother to look for a lift – I just hauled my bike up the stairs.  Why the collector at Queens didn’t say go to the end of the road and turn right I don’t know.  On the way I hadn’t seen a single sign directing me where to go.  I wonder if I took the right route?

This next train turned out to be also running a few minutes late.  I had a very tight connection to make at Stafford of only 10 minutes – but there were other connections to Nuneaton and I wouldn’t have had to wait long for the next train.  Perhaps I wouldn’t have to change platforms?

The train for Stafford made good time and after 4 more hours of travel and no further delays we approached Stafford.  So with about 10 minutes to go I walked along the corridor to unstrap my bike and load the panniers in preparation to getting off.  But what did I find – the cycle compartment had been shut off and the door locked.  This has never happened to me before on Virgin Trains.  Panic begins to set in.  Back down the corridor through about three coaches to find an attendant – who happens to be serving in the saloon bar.  Yes she will come and unlock the door.  She came with about 3 minutes to spare but her key wouldn’t unlock the door.  She seemed to be trying 2 or 3 different ones.  Eventually she succeeded much to her and my relief! 

I got off to find that the next train to Nuneaton was not coming in on the same platform.  Again I hauled my bike up the steps and over the bridge and arrived at the platform just as the express to Euston was pulling into the platform.  I was told to put my bike in the van at the front of the train – but the door was locked.  Looking anxiously around wondering what to do I thought that one of the attendants was telling me from two coaches down to forget about the van – just put it in the carriage – which happened to be first class.  This I did.  The next thing I knew was that a rather irate guard came storming up the platform saying I couldn’t do that – and he produced a key and unlocked the cycle van.  Bike loaded I got out back onto the platform and into 1^st class where I thought I would stand for the short journey to Nuneaton.  The guard followed me in and the train departed.  I had to take a bit of a lecture on the do’s and don’ts of rail travel with a bike.  Also, could I attract the attention of the platform staff at Nuneaton to get them to open the van as he (the guard) would be right down the far end of the train as his next job was to collect the tickets from the people who had just boarded.  Some hope I thought – what chances are there of seeing station staff right at the front end of the platform!  You’re lucky to see any at all.  I explained to him that I thought this might be a problem.  He then started his ticket collecting duties – was I booked on this train with my bike?  “Yes I was”, but just to seal my friendship with the guard, in the commotion of getting the bike loaded, I had left my tickets in the saddlebag.  “You must always carry your tickets with you”.  I was really making his day!  Fortunately there was a communicating door back into the van from 1^st class and I was allowed to retrieve them.  He then disappeared down the corridor only to return a few minutes later with the information that he had asked one of the stewards in the first class to let me out at Nuneaton.  He added that I might as well sit down in first class.  He was a very nice guard!

Fortunately the Nuneaton drop off went without a hitch and it wasn’t long before I was cycling along the Longshoot and then the cycle path on the A5 and onto the Hinckley bypass.  Home sweet home – it had been nearly 4 weeks since I left to start the journey.  It had been a great experience but I was glad to get back to see Christine and to enjoy some home comforts.

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