Six appeal...

Er, wow!

Shock and awe as the total donated by the Saga's sensational supporters continues to rise...

Many, many thanks.

David Hart (Head of CPAS Ventures and Falcon Camps) tells me that the amount raised so far underwrites the cost of an entire camp.

And I hope readers will forgive me for having the comparativley weeny figure of £231 currently at the forefront of my thinking.

Meanwhile: Hurrah!

Back in my own back yard...

Home at last...

Saturday's train journey from Thurso to Leamington was a few hours longer than planned - but all things considered, one's grateful to be able to travel such a long distance in such a relatively short space of time - and without pedalling.

Relaxed on Sunday with a 30-mile ride over to Stratford and back in glorious sunshine and genuine heat.  Cycled without a fleece for first time in weeks...

Wonderful welcome back today at work. How kind.

And the total-so-far is above....

You're thinking what I'm thinking, aren't you?

That extra £80 is going to come in, isn't it?

Thanks and thanks again to all the wonderful people who have supported the ride with such kindness, humour, generosity and practical helpfulness.

Hurrah!

I was glad...

Early start to take the wee ferry from John o'Groats to Burwick, across the waters of the Pentland Firth.


A corrugated, windy ride northwards up the chain of islands linked by the wartime Churchill barriers.

A brief stop at the extraordinary Italian Chapel, two Nissan huts transmogrified by Italian prisoners of war into remarkably beautiful place of worship.

And then a descent into Kirkwall and the great sandstone cathedral becomes a magnet pulling me to the end of my journey.

And on arrival, emotion surprises me...

But only briefly - back on the bike and pedal against the wind to the narrow, flag-stoned streets of Stromness and the cruise-ship ferry back to Thurso.

The wind drops, and the evening light bathes the vast cliffs of Hoy...

Whoosh...

Well, I had to wait a long time, but finally it arrived - a strong, friendly and so-welcome tail wind.

The remaining miles to John o'Groats were a skim and a whoosh, long segments where I was travelling effortlessly at 25mph. Armstrong-esque. Absolutely no credit to me. It's that west wind.

And then J o G, marginally less tacky than Land's End - and packed with cyclists and leather-clad bikers.

I think I am looking reasonably happy in the 'official' snap - note Falcon Camps on the signpost.

Wonderful email and Facebook messages come pinging in via the extremely intermittent signal.

And I'm here.

Phew...

(Confused? Probably - I get the date wrong at the start of the podcast.)

Coo

North from Altnaharra down the Naver valley to Betty Hill and my first glimpse of the northern coast of Scotland.

Empty beaches, towering cliffs and the northern ocean stretching away - next landfall Iceland.

Early arrival at the splendid Strathy Inn and a walk out to the lighthouse at Strathy Point - and an extraordinary panorama of the northern coast.

Later an in-depth discussion in the inn's bar between landlord and two friendly bikers on the benefits of Avon 'Skin so Soft' as a near-miraculous midge-repellant.

Middle, near the top

A clear, still warm day for my entry to what feels like the 'north beyond the north' - the wild, empty lands of Sutherland.


Leaving Lairg, I see a burdened figure striding ahead.

Ray O'Connor from Macclesfield is nearing the end of his epic end-to-end walk, which began on 9 April. He hopes to reach John o'Groats at the weekend. Respect!

(Our chat beside the narrow road was punctuated by the roar of two passing Forestry Commission juggernauts, one laden with timber, the other empty.)

The bait pulling me north was the prospect of a lunch stop at the renowned (among end-to-enders) Crask Inn. Possibly the loneliest inn in Britain, in terms of wilderness location.

All was quiet when I arrived. A hand-written paper on the door read: 'Closed for funeral business. Open at 4.00pm'.

And so on to the hamlet of Altnaharra, nestling beneath the vast shoulder of Ben (I'll find out which Ben as soon as I can...) - and a night of indulgent luxury in the Altnaharrah Hotel, which caters for the upmarket fishin' and shootin' market. Forgot to pack my tweeds.

In fact the hotel is delightful - not snooty at all.

And my bathroom is, at this stage of the ride, only one step this side of paradise...

Fisherman's friend?

Across the beautiful Black Isle (couldn't be greener) to Cromarty to catch a ferry - that wasn't there...


The old ferry, it turned out, had gone west. The new one was still on its way up from Southampton.

Problem.

I'd already cycled 25 miles. Without the ferry crossing I'd have to return almost to the start, changing an easy 55-mile day into a slogggish 85-miler.

Then the lady at the cafe said: 'You could always ask one of the fishermen to take you over...'