End to End: A classic ride in Britain

The "End to End" ride is approximately 1600 km (about 1000 miles) depending on the route taken. It winds its way through Britain's finest country-sides, towns and villages, across moors, over hills so steep that most who ride it have to walk at some stage. Below, is Ted Harrison's experience from doing the ride in May and June of 2006.

Sleep seemed impossible aboard the overnight flight from Vancouver, B.C. to London, England. After re-assembling my touring bike at Gatwick, I took a train to Victoria Station, and then bought an overnight ticket to Penzance. I spent a large part of the day wandering and riding the wonderful parks of downtown London, and then boarded the train and set off with continuous bumps, sways, jarring stops and noise. By early morning, I was in Penzance, eating a full English breakfast at the station cafe. Land's End, Cornwall, is only twelve miles away and I was anxious to get there and begin the "End to End", a thousand miles north to John O'Groats in north east Scotland, depending on route selected and not counting side trips.

The ride over to Land's End is spectacular, especially on a clear, warm day but it is hilly. "Salt Spring Island hills don't look so bad," I thought to myself. Dropping down the hill at Land's End, dense fog on the water penetrated the immediate coastal area, and the temperature dropped several degrees. As well as the fog, there before me was a veritable theme park, an ugly hodge podge collection of buildings, cheap trinkets and souvenirs; the worst tourist trap imaginable. I was happy to get away and begin the sojourn north. Riding the hilly local coastal roads was a truly joyful experience as the fog lifted. Small communities abound on the Cornish beaches, so many pleasant villages beckoning, welcoming.

In Cornwall and Devon, the hills were a challenge, some exceeding 15% grade with Porthtowan and Nonstallon among the worst. The guide book that I used (Bike Britain by Paul Salter) features mostly "b" roads, unclassified roads  and an occasional laneway which means paved, secondary, much less travelled by-ways, but of course, more and steeper hills. The trade-off of less traffic seems to be worth the extra effort required to overcome the hills. As time goes on and northing is made, the hills become less frequent and more easily ridden. Launceston, the oldest town in Cornwall, is a delight. I could have stayed a month, but I travelled on to Bath with it's ancient roman baths and beautiful riverside parks.

In the full swing of touring now, I averaged 60 miles (96 kilometers) a day, eating a full English breakfast, a large lunch-time meal and a lighter dinner. Cafes, bakeries, delicatessens and coffee shops offered good home-made soups and sandwiches as well a break from riding. But it's the pubs that quickly became my favourite stopping places with generally good meals and a selection of ales.

At Chester, an ancient walled city just south of Liverpool and Manchester, I headed west out along the northern Welsh beaches to Llandudno, Menai Bridge and Anglesea, beautiful long stretches of sand, flat riding and glorious bucolic countryside. Of particular interest to me was Bodnant Gardens, a National Trust property, and the Snowdownia "mountains" beyond, the latter offering wonderful walking trails and impressive vistas. After a couple of days of walking, I rode the 50 miles back to Chester and headed north avoiding the heavily industrialized cities of Liverpool and Manchester by cycling between them and never once saw anything but grazing land and crops such as rape seed. The Lake District of England is so beautiful, the roads gentle, easily ridden and the hills manageable.

I crossed the border into Scotland at Gretna, which has younger age restrictions on marriage than does England, so there are several marriage chapels combined with attached restaurants. Then, on to Dumphries. The next day, I had the nicest ride of my life from Moniaive to Carsfairn, with open range land, rock outcroppings, streams, waterfalls, tarns, no trees, heather and sheep everywhere with a bit of a climb into the area and a long downhill sweep to Dalmellington with an hotel bar offering gracious hospitality and a warm ambience. Dinner at the Craigmark provided the best food of the trip.

On to Paisley on the outskirts of Glasgow and then a great ride on dedicated bike path along the west side of Loch Lomond to Tarbet, then Ardlui, and beyond, a wonderful ride across the Rannock Moor and down into Glencoe. A lengthy visit to Cairn Liath brock was outstanding. From there to John O'Groats was heather, gorse, sheep, crops, lakes, nice roads and not too many hills.

John O'Groats is a tiny community with one eating establishment and a foot passenger ferry terminal for those wanting to visit Orkney on foot, by tourist bus waiting in Orkeney or bicycle. There are several attractions for those with a day or two to spare: the lighthouse out on Duncansby Head, the Stacks (two huge pinnacles rising out of the sea close to but away from the precipitous cliffs providing protection for thousands of nesting birds) and Buchollie Castle, an unforgettable ruin of ancient civilization. I'd never would have discovered it if it weren't for Allistair who along with his wife ran the local B&B. My thanks to them.

With five clear days left before having to return to London by train, I made the short crossing to Orkney and discovered the jewel of the British crown. The islands offer unbelievable scenery, great riding and warm, genuine hospitality. But even more remarkable are the many remnants of pre-historic human settlement, such as The Stones of Stenness, the Ring of Brodgar, Skara Brae and Maeshow. I stayed for five nights at Scorradale B&B in Ophir enjoying delightful Scottish breakfasts and great home-cooked evening meals. Too soon the realities of time and another world closed the fairy-like dream of Orkeney as I boarded the larger ferry in Stromness, bound for Thurso on the Scottish mainland, the train to London and a flight home.

Overall, I found this tour by bicycle incredibly rich and rewarding. The people I met along the way, while not as overtly curious as the Kiwis for example, quickly became warm and friendly, willingly offering directions when needed. As drivers, the British were courteous, careful and considerate. Yes, they were fast drivers, but respectful and perhaps forgiving of those riding bicycles and thus travelling more slowly. The lorrie (truck) drivers were equally as kind.

I stayed in B&Bs all along the way, making only one reservation in advance. Usually, I would stop in a town or village around mid-to-late afternoon and inquire at the local tourist info center or pub. I always found satisfactory accommodation ranging from 18 pounds sterling to 35 per night. Although I considered camping as an alternative, I found that campsites were relatively scarce, quite pricey and often inconveniently located for a cyclist. By not carrying camping gear, I had a lighter bike, faster speeds,
could cover greater daily distances and spend more time touring local  interests. Water was freely available and one could always check out the local cemetery where a standpipe with fresh water was used to irrigate. Bicycle repair shops, though I never needed one, were located in virtually any small town, with knowledgeable staff and a good inventory of spare parts.

I left home in early May and returned in mid June, staying five weeks in Britain. The weather was generally cool by our standards. It rained a few times but nothing too serious. Surprisingly, the further north I cycled, the warmer it got. Winds were not a serious factor except for one day in Orkney where it took me two full hours to cycle 13 miles into a 25 knot breeze. But most people do the ride south to north because of the prevailing winds of south-westerlies during that time of year.

Travelling alone was never an issue, from my point of view. In fact I might argue that locals were more forthcoming and friendly because I was on my own. They were more willing to put themselves forward, ask questions and, in some cases, express incredulity and admiration that an "old fart with a white beard was crazy enough to be riding End to End". Kindnesses abounded, like the elderly gentleman who saw me resting at the side of the road in front of his house and brought me bread, cookies and fruit; or like the woman who gave me a beautiful scotch sipping glass, made of no longer available Caithness glass, so that I would be able to fully appreciate the
"water of life". Or those who stopped to offer encouragement or take a photo.

Travelling anywhere in Europe is no longer inexpensive but cycling has an edge in this regard. It cost me about 55 pounds sterling per day for accommodation, food and miscellaneous expenses.

End to End is a classic ride with the first known riders, two policemen on pennyfarthings, completing the ride in July, 1886. The speedyist rider was Gethin Butler, who still holds the world's record and did it in one day, twenty hours, four minutes and nineteen seconds. Thousands do the ride each year, many for charities, others as a part of a club ride and still others as independents. Train reservations for the trip back south are essential.

Want to go? Do it! You'll have no regrets.

Written by Ted Harrison. He lives on Salt Spring Island, and obviously enjoys touring by bicycle and, in addition to riding End to End, has ridden across Canada, end to end in New Zealand, end to end in Baja Mexico, around Hawaii and numerous cycle tours of Alberta and B.C.

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