June 19 2007. Two men, 911 miles, 12 days. As the cold and cough I had been brewing on the drive down to Penzance arrived with a vengeance, I was very glad that I had persuaded my Dad to be my support driver. Hauling anything other than my own sorry carcass over the Cornish hills would have been too tall an order. Perhaps riding the London to Brighton as a warm up two days earlier had not been such a brilliant idea after all?
Land's End looked pretty bleak in the torrential rain, so I slipped on my new best friend - a goretex paclite jacket - and surveyed the armless stump of the famous sign. To prevent thefts, the sign's arms are removed each night, but fortunately they were put up just as we prepared to depart, in time for the traditional photo.
I had opted for the scenic B-road, which hugs the nothern coast, although this did involve an early introduction to Cornwall's numerous steep climbs. I was navigating with a GPS-equippped mobile phone and memory map software, an excellent combination provided you keep it dry in a plastic bag, which, of course, I had forgotten to do. During one of the day's violent thunderstorms the touch screen packed up and I was forced to ask directions from an incredulous salesman in a car showroom. "St.Agnes on a bike? In this weather?" he said as I dribbled copious amounts of rainwater over the shiny Nissans. Meanwhile Dad's support vehicle was encountering its own problems, with a recalcitrant tailgate lock and hazard lights that had developed a life of their own.
Technology 1 Humans 0. A restorative bath, however, at my friend Debbie's holiday home in Trevone restored my good humour.
72.6 miles, 13.2mph
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