LEJOG Day 14 - Helmsdale to John-O-Groats...I DID IT!!!!

Can I just point out that JOG is at the top of a 51 mile hill that starts steeply out of Helmsdale. Or a 55 mile hill. Depending upon whether you believe the book or the road signs. As you will recall, I clocked the economy with truth that the Book must observe. Only Type A's can deal with the REAL truth.

At 8am and minus two degrees, hopping out of the car and getting straight on the bike was probably my worst mistake of the Tour. I suffered a lot for not warming up. Stupid idiot, Little Lady Lead Legs that I am.

I barely slept in case it snowed, hurricaned or the bike got stolen. I'd done a deal with myself - no matter what - even if I had to walk with the bike. Today was the day.

As it turned out, my lack of faith or my newly found realisation that anything that could go wrong on the Tour will go wrong, proved to be unfounded. From before 5am this morning, the sky was clear and it looked as if the Shipping Forecast might be right for the first time in two whole weeks. It was right. But with Knobs on.

Those steep hills though. Bl**dy hell. I put in the last 10 undulating miles last night to Helmsdale thinking it would save my pain. Err. No. Flipping cliffs. Get in the way of an easy 50 miles.

I totally collapsed my right knee on the second hill. Total burn out. Shattered, no energy left in the tanks, I could really do without this last minute hitch. Having fought every weather and every doubt, I couldn't believe my body had given up on the home straight. Then I got a tweet from a chap who pointed out I'd already passed the point where James Cracknell gave up (on medical advice) his record attempt a few weeks ago and so I ignored the advice on the medical tin and downed a double portion of anti-saddle-sore pills and thought well - it hardly constitutes an overdose if these are the last ones I take.

Half an hour later, straight in to the blood stream (as I couldn't eat or drink anyway) it's amazing how the third hard hill was an absolute b*****d but Little Lady Lead Legs had turned in to Little Lady Light Legs. Perhaps I'm an addict, I don't know, but if you only had 30 miles left on the back of a 1000, I guess you'd self medicate.

After that, my new Tweet Mate said it was downhill. Not downhill in a look downhill sort of way but downhill in a not Cairngorms sort of way. Just in an uphill, not as bad as Cornwall and Devon hill sort of a way. Remember these guys are professionals. I'm just an amateur pretender.

We so know how to do Castles in this country. I have seen the most monumental places these last five days. Castle after castle after castle. Never mind they are semi-ruined, half-ruined or fully ruined, it occurred to me that if I'd been a Viking Invader having successfully navigated dangerous seas, I'd have pooped my pants at the sight of our East Coast Castle line. Every other step, another huge stone place full of hardy northerners. You'd have turned on your jelly legs and hoofed it home, surely?

Another thing we are Great at, is graveyards. I've been trying not to mention this as we are not good as a nation at facing mortality in any ethics sort of way - I will have to go to Switzerland shortly to put myself out of my misery unless the knee starts to behave - but the other day, I saw a grave stone by the side of the road. Not because someone had been buried there but because two white van men were up to no good in a layby. I know my civic duty should demand I capture reg no's and all that but I did a ready reckner and realised I was better off alive than dead to the Haven and sometimes having Fundraising blinkers can help.

I know that where there is a market, there is a market. They called me Lady Sugar at the Yorkshire Haven in September. My first day I said - right, what have we got to flog? They looked at me, looked at the bare cupboards and started singing nursery rhymes.  That'll be bare cupboards then.

Oop ere the graveyards are like Thai Temples. Careful, considerate memorials to the dead and life ever after, they are huge, well kept and eerily magnificent. Block after block after block. Presumably they needed a lot of people to build scary Castles and those folks were made of tough stuff and reproduced solidly down the ages.

We are also good at Mooses. Those giant red shaggy cattle cows that look like the picture on the McGowans toffee bars I consumed by the handful as a child. Now in the Headingley One Stop they will be considered sour and unsaleable but at Mile 3527, take it from me, I became my inner child once again. Amazing how a sound, a place, a name or a smell can transport you to a place of safety.

I'd like to say I rocked in to JOG full of myself but you will have guessed that the Majors needed attention and frankly I'm too exhausted to care less what the bl**dy sign post looks like. Just bring on the picture and get me back to Brora.

The ultimate irony or moment of suspend disbelief is that JOG was shut. So shut that there wasn't a signpost. Just a pole that you could hang the official photographer's signpost from. Only it was too wet, too cold and so last season, the photographer went home with the last ferry to the Orkneys so I had to hang my helmet from the top, wrap my High Vis around the post and try not to lie down on the base. God we are CRAP at our extremity - whether it is LE or JOG. Rumour has it, both are owned by the same company. Ah ha. No surprise there then.

To tell you the total truth, I was gutted. Between Helmsdale and there, nothing was open. Not even in Wick although it has an airport. I suppose it was Sunday and on most levels I shouldn't be surprised but actually I just felt mortally embarrassed. I can only imagine what european visitors think at either end. I described it as a 'Shabby Sh*thole' to Mum Major and for once didn't apologise for swearing. She didn't object either.

That 51 or 55 miles was the best, most rugged, most beautiful, inspiring, stirring scenery of LEJOG and yet to end like that in a pre-fab craphole was just the pits. The Majors thought I would be so proud of myself. I said 'Put the Bike on the car and please get me out of here.' 

I mentioned yesterday how I would feel and careful readers will know the answer. Empty.

I've arranged to send the Majors home with all the kit but I'm staying here in the comfort of the Royal Marine at Brora. They have a GP, a hospital and miles and miles of empty beaches for me to Chill-Ax in. Baby Girl says that to me a lot so I thought I would see what it involves.

In truth, I feel quite poorly. I have a temperature, everything that can ache does ache and if it doesn't ache, it hurts. The last time I felt like this I had to go back to work twice before and the very next day. As a leisure lady, I can listen to my beaten body and say that 10hrs in a car will probably cause me more bodily stress than is good for me. The Majors are feeling worried about leaving me but with a bed the size of Lichtenstein all to myself in a hotel and spa, surely a good lick and polish, Great Food, sleep and TLC for 24hrs will begin my recovery. Also there's a distillery and a 24pt heritage tour to do and that has my name on it tomorrow.

I've not been out for 2 weeks. I've spent 14 nights feeling like something from an alien movie. In June when I did the London to Brighton Bike ride with a Friend's daughter that was awesome, it was the nearest thing to this. Only I did it 14 times on the trot these past two weeks. With a lot of alien KNOBS on.

There are some points that I need to make. This bike ride will earn a lot of money. Not just through Justgiving but through a lot of other people. I would never have set off on it, if I had known what I now know but I feel duty bound to mention the following:-

(1) I've trained for this for 3yrs. Almost every day at 5am. I always get up and do my training. I'm not an athlete and I never will be - but failure to prepare is preparing to fail - I'm more fit than practically everyone I know. If you want to join me with Simon Coach at 7am on a Monday, I'm sure he will amused unless you are serious. As in totally.

(2) LEJOG has a 3months recovery time. Minimum. I thought it was exaggerated. Now I know I'm at the edge or on the edge and though my natural inclination is to shut up now and put up later, I've come to realise that listening to my Body now will aid my recovery. When in doubt, my knee KILLS so at least there's no marathon due on that. This week.

(3) We all have different talents. Mine is to get on. Others listen. Others support. Others wade in. Our talents are unique and we should never play to our weaknesses. If this is not you, it is not you. It is not me either but I'd be a Master at Japanese Water Torture otherwise. On myself.

In summary, my dear LEJOG Blog readers, it has been my pleasure to sweat the small stuff for the past 14 days. I'm not big, I'm not clever and actually, I'm a total bl**dy misery. But fundraising isn't always a piece of cake and usually it's smelly and hard.

The Good News is that someone had better tell George to get the morning kettle working. I'm away to the spa in the Maldives but after that, I'm going to ambush him. I had 51 or 55 miles to consider how it can be done and BOY do I have a Good Plan. No cycles, no stealth and no magic or mirrors. The poor Man won't know what has hit him in that Window. I know you can imagine.

In Loving Memory of Albert Frankland RIP. 24th September 1924 - 1st December 2010. The most courageous, loving Man that I will ever know. I hope you would be Proud. XX