After two months holed up in a tent, portacabin and subsequently (following a 44 hour non stop bus journey, airbnb in Buenos Aires, we decided if we could survive that and each other, we should probably get married. The 11 years together was part of the thinking process to!
Our respecfive employers having taken pity on our rather abrupt end to our much planned sabbatical for 2020, and having still got a delayed charter for the boat in Sweden, the changes in restrictions meant that our sabbatical plans changed just about as often as our wedding plans. With Sweden banning entry to non-EU citizens, sailing was out, and initial thoughts of a Cambridge to Venice having hit issues the moment that most of the countries we were hoping to pass through putting in quarantine, we thought it would be best for prolonging any wedding bliss, and our sanity if we stayed in the UK. From the last few days, we are so glad we did.
Although we are roughly starting south of John O’Groats, with a guide book that goes along the National Cycle Network (NCN) to Land’s End, our cycling style of slow and easily distracted, means that we won’t be too fussed if we don’t end up debating whether cream or jam goes first on the scone. Current plans from JoG are in fact to head immediately west (and we are still toying with heading further North to Orkney) along the North road to Cape Wrath, island hop down to Glasgow, hopefully meeting up with some friends along the way.
Our first stop, was Euston station, with bikes fully built (I don’t ever want to fly with bikes again!) to get the Caledonian Sleeper up to Inverness. Having spent the days before and after the wedding covering allotments, reparing bikes, packing for bikes and wedding (and making sure the right bags were packed for each event!) we were pretty knackered and looking forward to a break The train ride down from Cambridge was super easy, and despite Robbie honing in to the only piece of dog s*** at the station and driving both his bike, and his boot through it, exactly what you want before stuck in a tiny cabin, we were on the train.
Poo succesfully removed and bikes stashed. We moved into our bunkbed cabin which just about fitted our two months worth of panniers, and as the train slowly departed from the station we folded out the table for the bottle of wine and remaining wedding cheese that we had carefully stashed. This was timed pefecttly for the arrival of our first wedding photos – the neighbours must have been slightly bemused by sounds of both laughing and happy tears as we remembered the day.
Swayed, and sometimes gently jolted, by the train through the night, we woke passing Aviemore and the Cairngorms. There aren’t many better starts to a honeymoon tucked in bed, with a complimentary coffee, watching the Cairngorms from your private window. We will be back.
We arrived into Inverness in drizzle and earlier than expected. Like the hardy (but sensible) cyclists we are, and with six further hours of travel to go, we allowed everyone else get wet and waited before dismounting our steeds and multiple panniers. The two hour wait at Inverness station (surprisingly small) went pretty quickly, and we managed to sport a couple of other cyclists waiting to head north. Having grown up in the town on the London to Edinburgh line, we had anticipated the four hour train journey, arriving at 3, would have been slightly bigger and better serviced than the three carriage train which we boarded. With limited time remaining, we wished that we had spent the time at the station more prodctively (i.e. buying lunch). With Robbie forbidden from eating any of the limited wedding cake we had with us, we nibbled on nuts and raisins for four hours. Luckily the tain ride was spectacular with views of Monroes, snaking along the coast and lochs and through the Flow country. Our stomachs were very glad though when Wick station came into view.
Wick
Wick used to be the main harbour in Europe for herring, with reference to crazy numbers of herring being landed in the 19th Centuries. All gutted by ‘fishing lassies’s who trekked from town to town as the Herrings migrated south over the season. The villages of Pulteny (now part of Wick) was one of the first industrial designed villages purely for the industry.
With the collapse of the herring industry in the 1930-1940s the village obviously suffered, and the effects can still be seen today, with some beautiful houses falling into disrepair. The village has so much potential, the nearby Beatrice windfarm bringing employment, a great distillery and some very passionate people. Plus the best fish and scampi we have possibly ever tasted!
When the sun is shining, there aren’t many places as beautiful as old Wick Castle, one of the old Viking strongholds, and the coastline around. A trip to the Old Pultenny distillery first thing meant we were sipping samples of 40%+ spirit just gone 10 which made the stroll along the clifftops slightly easier and the crashing waves on the rock platform that more interesting to get closer too! The contrast of the dark rocks, the aquamarine sea and the multicolour of the cliff top flowers a heavenly experience (plus we had a bit more whisky).
We also managed to pop into the tiny museum which was almost too informative on the rise and fall of the herring industry. A local photographer family had taken a huge number of photos that charted the time and meant that the contrast between the heady days of fishing, and the result of the decline much more stark than words alone can sometimes achieve. The photos of the fisherwomen, many of which trekked for days along the east coast following the herring were some of my favourite.
The hard work of the town has meant that one of the two outdoor lidos had been repaired, a relic of the 1930s and a dip in the protected waters by the harbour made it a beautiful end of the day – once we got over that we were swimming in the sea this far North!
Pedalling_Patagonia 