Cycling
How to cycle Britain and why you should do it
Unable to explore far-flung lands, travel writer Simon Parker decided to take on a 1,307-mile British bikepacking epic – from the northernmost point of Shetland to Land’s End in southwest Cornwall.
My skin tingled when I finally saw it – the Muckle Flugga Lighthouse, clinging to a wave-battered lump of moss-brown rock at the northernmost point of Britain. Resembling a giant, pearly white bowling pin, its southern-facing belly glinted in the splintered autumn sunlight.
Keen travellers – like me – have whiled away thousands of hours daydreaming of these giant chess pieces at the edge of the map; where a squiggle on a page finally transforms into a real-life scene. In a year of closed borders and convoluted “travel corridors”, The Flugga – as Shetlanders affectionately know it – had never seemed more exotic.
Muckle Flugga Lighthouse can be spotted in the distance
© Simon Parker
But with my bicycle and panniers pointed south, it was merely the starting point. I was about to embark upon a British end-to-end almost twice as long as the traditional 874-mile Lands End to John O’Groats (a well-worn route between Great Britain’s two most extreme points). Instead of starting at the most north eastern point of mainland Britain, I’d head even further north to the Scottish isles, carving out a rural route through Shetland, Orkney, the Scottish Highlands, Arran, Ayrshire, Cumbria, Shropshire and England’s southwest.
Along the way, I’d battle inclement storms, wild camp, and traverse regional coronavirus lockdowns, but after four weeks and 1,307 miles in the saddle, finally roll into Land’s End on the eve of England’s second lockdown. I’ll remember it as one of the most challenging, but most rewarding journeys of my life, and here’s why you should do it, too.
1. Britain is bigger than you think
Shetland stretch as far as the 60th parallel north
© Simon Parker
Having previously sailed and cycled 15,000 miles from China to London – and embarked upon dozens of overland adventures all over the world – I must admit to previously scoffing at the traditional LEJOG distance of ‘just’ 874 miles. After 4,000 miles cycling across the USA, Britain had always seemed a bit tame.
With a coastline of 11,000 miles, mainland Britain has a lifetime’s worth of potential
But then I realised that the joy of a Britain end-to-end is that you can make it as long as you want. You can add in a few zigs and zags here and there and bump up the mileage, to create your very own hybrid distance.
By adding on the Northern Isles of Shetland and Orkney, I got to explore a corner of Britain that was closer to Iceland’s capital, Reykjavik, than it was London. And with a coastline of 11,000 miles, mainland Britain has a lifetime’s worth of potential.
2. There’s wildlife around every corner
There were a number of obscure obstacles to look out for along the way
© Simon Parker
“Otters for next mile,” read a triangular sign in Shetland. “Slow, red squirrels,” said another in Cumbria. In fact, despite being one of the most densely populated corners of Europe, Britain is packed with wildlife.
Adding on a few extra hundred miles to the route meant that instead of taking breaks at noisy service stations, I rested on dry stonewalls, beside Shetland ponies, alpacas and cows
I woke up on an isolated beach in Orkney to watch seals playing in the surf. I faced down a giant stag at sunrise in the Scottish Highlands. In the Lake District, I lost count of the buzzards, goshawks and red kites.
Adding on a few extra hundred miles to the route meant that I could stick to rural, and quieter, B-roads rather than having to contend with traffic on busier A-roads. It also meant that instead of taking breaks at noisy service stations, I rested on dry stonewalls, beside Shetland ponies, alpacas and cows.
3. The food is perfect for hungry cyclists
Simon with his catch of the day
© Simon Parker
Hearty, “proper” food is the way to go on these epic adventures – I can easily burn 5,000 calories a day on these rides – and luckily, Britain has this in abundance. From mainland Scotland’s cod and chips, to Orkney chowder and Shetland scallops, the seafood is some of the best on the planet.
In fact, in Shetland, I met a fisherman that couldn’t sell his one-clawed lobsters to posh restaurants, so we threw them on the barbeque. It wasn’t a gourmet dinner every night, but even when I was just cooking pasta on my camping stove in the Highlands, I’d try and give it a local twist with some cheese or seafood, while it was open season on Cornish pasties, Eccles cakes and Devonshire cream teas once in the southwest.
4. Your legs will feel it
Any hill comes with some added difficulty, courtesy of all your kit
© Simon Parker
Don’t underestimate the extra physical strains of a self-supported bike tour and bear this in mind with daily distances and pacing. At times in the Scottish Highlands – where I was a day’s ride from the nearest shop – I was carrying 30 kilos in kit and food.
Even if you’re carrying the bare essentials, that extra kit will soon start to be felt, making hills harder, riding slower and any hike-a-bike sections that bit tougher
Sure, you can do it super-lightweight, but I’m a journalist and need my laptop and DSLR for starters, and one measly litre of water weighs a kilogram. Cycling through Devon felt like a daylong spin class, with the bike stuck in the hardest gear.
Even if you’re carrying the bare essentials, that extra kit will soon start to be felt, making hills harder, riding slower and any hike-a-bike sections that bit tougher.
5. You’ll find isolation you didn’t expect
A camping spot for the night that was miles from the nearest person
© Simon Parker
As long as you’re respectful to the environment, and follow the “leave no trace” mantra, wild camping is allowed in Scotland. Not only does this mean you can save money on accommodation, but it also allows you to experience wild landscapes that would otherwise be off-limits.
My fondest memories of this trip are of camping on isolated beaches in Shetland and Orkney – miles from anyone else. Free from light pollution, billions of stars and a fingernail moon illuminated the vast Atlantic, stretching all the way west to Newfoundland, Canada.
It’s also a simple joy to have a campfire at the end of a long day. It will keep the midges away in summer, and dry you out before bed in autumn and winter.
6. You can do it on the cheap
Spending a night under the stars can save you a pretty penny
© Simon Parker
I’d generally spend about £10 a day on food, but live off high calorie snacks like peanut butter sandwiches and porridge. Little things, like paying for water add up, too – so I’d always try to fill up in service stations or cafes.
A hot shower and dry clothes do wonders for boosting morale, so don’t feel like a bikepacking trip means you have to forgo all luxuries all the time
In the Scottish Highlands, I struggled to find accommodation for under £100 a night, so I opted to camp while the temperature was still bearable.
The further south I cycled, the more competition there was between hotels. Here, I’d camp two out of three nights, but then treat myself to a £50 hotel room (often with breakfast included). A hot shower and dry clothes do wonders for boosting morale, so don’t feel like a bikepacking trip means you have to forgo all luxuries all the time.
7. The landscapes are world-beaters
Why leave Britain when there are views like these?
© Simon Parker
When I was 19, I bought a one-way ticket to New Zealand and disappeared to the other side of the world in search of empty beaches and epic mountain ranges. In hindsight, I could have found those in Scotland and the Northern Isles.
A rural route through Britain will weave through landscapes that transport you to California’s redwoods, Australia’s Great Ocean Road and New Zealand’s Milford Sound – all within the same time zone
I’ve now travelled to over half the countries on the planet, but Britain’s craggy coastline is – at times – a world-beater. Some of Scotland’s west coast beaches have water as clear blue as the Caribbean, and the vast conifer forests in Cumbria reminded me of Swedish Lapland’s sprawling Arctic woodland.
A rural route through Britain will weave through landscapes that transport you to California’s redwoods, Australia’s Great Ocean Road and New Zealand’s Milford Sound – all within the same time zone.
8. You’ll make lots of new friends
David Warrington, Resident Astronomer at the Scottish Dark Sky Observatory
© Simon Parker
I enjoy the solitary nature of long distance cycling, and chomping into miles on the lonely road. But I also love meeting new people along the way – the farmers, ramblers and fishermen you encounter around almost every twist and turn.
There is also something universally unthreatening and intriguing about being a grubby traveller on a bicycle – people gravitate towards you and want to know “where you’re headed”.
Even with social distancing in place due to coronavirus, I met an astronomer in Ayrshire, a brewer and chef in Shropshire, and slept in the recording studio of musicians in rural Scotland. It’s these characters that I’ll remember in 20 years – not the muscle cramps and saddle sores.
9. You’ll become in tune with the seasons
The changing of the seasons brings with it colder starts
© Simon Parker
A long-distance bike ride gives you a front row perspective on the subtle seasonal shifts around you. This ride – for example – came at the start of autumn, and I noticed the forests slowly turning a deeper shade of red with every passing mile.
By the time I reached Land’s End, I was cycling through puddles filled with soggy brown leaves, and noticed giant toadstools growing on the roadside. I also try to eat as seasonally as possible on these rides, and Britain in autumn bulges at the seams with mushrooms, apples and blackberries.
10. You’ll get a crash course in puncture repair
Ben Sash, Jake Sargent and Chris Parker of Haiko Cycling, Portishead
© Simon Parker
I didn’t get a single puncture for the first 1,000 miles of this ride, but then got six in the final 300. As Britain becomes more populated the further south you go, the roads grow dirtier and have their fair share of nails, glass and splinters.
At the time, punctures are stressful and make you filthy, but in hindsight it’s a great way to get to grips with the anatomy of your bike, and its general wear and tear. I can get my panniers off, flip the bike and change a tyre in about 10 minutes, flat now.
Limping to local bike shops is also a bittersweet experience. They can help you fix your broken bike, but also lend you an empathetic shoulder to cry on, and are often a hive of local cycling route knowledge – helping you plot the next part of your onward journey.
