The Man in Yellow

The ride west from John O’Groats was a tough 55km slog into the wind; particularly considering the fact that I’d spent most of the day before in Orkney riding against strong winds. Setting up camp in Melvich I woke the next morning to heavy rain and very heavy legs. Nope, I’m not doing it; I’m not getting on the bike today, I’m taking the day off. Instead, I spent the day reading, writing, drinking bad coffee and generally, being lazy.

Speaking to a local gentleman I was told that the wind the next day would be a strong one from the north. This would mean 30kms riding west to Bettyhill with a strong cross wind then about 60-70kms southbound to Lairg with the wind at my back. Sweet.

Waking the next morning, there was no wind whatsoever; all was calm. Though I could have continued west from Bettyhill to Tongue then turned south, as the Sustrans NCN Route#1 suggested, I opted to take the more minor, single-track road south from Bettyhill. Not only would it be a road I’d not yet ridden, but that section between Bettyhill and Tongue was the same that nearly killed me several days earlier. It turned out to be the best decision I could have made.

Within about 20mins of turning south, a rocket in a yellow-jersey rolled up. Knowing that Lance Armstrong had been in the area just a week or two earlier, I nearly thought it was he who had chased me down. Clogging, the runs, cerebral pains, bladder contaminations, facial dispensing with, and so forth are a couple of its undesirable impacts. cialis generic price http://robertrobb.com/2019/04/page/2/ That’s why a patient is suggested to be sexual aroused whenever he sildenafil generic india needs to consume this pill. Many men are perfectly content to stick to “typical” auto-erotic entertainments involving their hands, a little lotion generic cialis viagra and their penises, but others crave a more adventurous experience, even if it results in difficulty in pregnancy and risk of miscarriage. When I noticed what was happening I focussed on the moment: the flickering torchlight on the steep and dusty track, the cold air entering my lungs, the shape and feel of the rocks I had to carefully and quickly climb over, the spots of light from the village of Toya Bunka way down below . . . the more present I was to what was actually happening viagra generika online and not to where. Nope; much better than Lance, it was Dave Behennah.

Within moments, Dave and I were in conversation about pro-cycling and all the big names; past championships, current racers and of course, our own cycling exploits. Turns out that Dave–an avid golfer–was on Day 2 of his 15 day End-to-End fund-raiser for Cornwall Hospice Care put on by his local golf club.

Pushing each other just a little bit faster than either of us would have ridden by ourselves, we set a blistering pace. In fact, we rode well past Lairg, which was where I’d had planned to end my day. With only a bit of a head-wind during the last BIG climb of the day, we both set some personal records. At 76miles, Dave rode his biggest day ever, while at 138kms[92miles] I rode my longest day on this UK tour. Sadly, I was unable to stay with Dave on the big climb; he sprinted away to take the polka-dot jersey.

With Dave’s wife, Gill, the team manager driving the support vehicle, we stopped once for coffee, once again for lunch, then finally in the town of Evanton. There they had a room booked at a B&B while I stayed at the local campsite. We met again for supper at the local pub, celebrated our triumphant day on the bike and said our good byes.

It was a glorious day of riding, certainly one of the best I’ve had all tour. My thanks to you, Dave and Gill, for making it all happen. Good luck on the rest of your quest!