click here to view the 2008 website
Leaving John O-Groat’s (JOG) and riding through Scotland at the start of The Longest Day 2008 was an almost religious experience.
The morning sun fought a hard battle with the clouds but slowly each colour of Scottish countryside clawed its way free of the grey-blue early dawn. The deep claret of the rising sun came first. Like an ember being gently blown it began to burn orange and slowly grew lighter and more powerful, throwing its heat on the backs of the cold bikers. The grass revealed its greens, the flowers their yellows and ambers. And the blue sky prised itself from behind the clouds.
The roads were empty but for the 40 or so bikers from the xrv.org.uk adventure motorcycling website. They twisted and turned and glided and raced as bike after bike wended its way along the great biking roads. We had all met the night before in the hotel at JOG. The southerners coming north had grouped an evening earlier in a bunkhouse in the shade of Hadrian’s Wall. Faces and names became glued in each other’s minds. Friends were made for a lifetime.
But the day was all about riding. More than 870 miles to do before bedtime. Fuel presented the first challenge. Open garages were few and far between, so many of us bunched up to find our first fuel stop, off the marked route. Some riders even had to turnaround and retrace their path in search of fuel. It was a tortoise and hare race for most of us, overtaking then pulling in for coffee and fuel and watching as others went past.
We bunched into groups travelling on the same body clock. And, as fatigue set in, some of these group began to pick up riders the way a slow-moving snowball picks up snow. Despite the final leg of the 400 miles done in Scotland being on motorways and main roads, it was still beautiful by comparison with England. When we left the services at Gretna, the first splashes of rain marred our visors. As we crossed the border south, the downpour started and the morning grey of dawn seemed a bright memory compared with the battleship grey of the M6. As we passed the services at Lancaster we knew we were about half-way to Land’s End.
We rode and rode and it rained and rained. The two-hour between breaks had to be reduced because eyelids were also falling like rain drops. The M6 tributary poured into the M1 and the M5 trickled into the A roads of Cornwall. Just to add to our discomfort, the weather threw fog at us. Thick white cotton wool to ride through. Even bunched together, the back rider could see fewer than half the dozen or so riders in our group.
But still we rode with a smile under our visors and a warm feeling under our water-soaked gear. The final tiny lanes eventually led us to the Land’s End hotel and our destination – for me, 16 hours and 35 minutes after I started. Some had striven out alone and got there earlier. Others took detours or had difficulties that meant they arrived later. The last arrived about 3am, waking me from my comfortable armchair as I waited for the last one in.
It was a not-to-be missed experience. And we raised more than £15,000 for Macmillan Cancer Support.
Chris Wheal #07
