Wow! A century! My first on Mercury, my first with full panniers, my first on top of several days' hard riding and my first into a headwind. A truly momentous day! This was the second-longest day ride I had ever done, after the 1998 Dunwich Dynamo, which was done at night, in the rain, with a strong tailwind blowing us up to the Suffolk coast. It was that ride which had convinced me that long rides out of London were possible, and that I was potentially cut out for touring too. OK, what other firsts could I claim this day? My first century North of Watford, my first in June, my first that year, my first that started in sunshine, or that occupied only daylight hours, and my first that didn't end in an exposed field in the rain with only a small marquee to shelter several hundred people. OK, you get the picture.

Slightly more worrying was the fact that I had not set out to cover this sort of distance. Indeed, when Gareth asked me after my 73 miles out of Glastonbury whether I was planning any centuries, I told him quite firmly NO. And most worrying of all, I didn't even feel that tired at the end of it all. How bizarre!

The weather forecast that day was poor. A bright morning would give way to rain in the afternoon. I figured it best to get some early miles in, and ride until the rain arrived. I earmarked a place to stay in Sanquhar, just for somewhere to aim for. This would be about half way to Gourock, from where the small passenger ferry crosses over to Kilcreggan. At a stretch, I should make it to Kilcreggan on my second day in Scotland.

I got up early, had a large breakfast, and was on the road by 9, another new record for me. The journey started well enough, the sun out and the wind a strong Southwesterly. My first mistake was to follow the Sustrans national Cycle Network Route 7/10 signs, which led me into a dead end and then vanished. I decided to start following the map rather than signs from this point on. A bit of guesswork saw me back on track in no time. I ignored the next NCN sign, which patently pointed in the wrong direction. This was where the Sustrans route went haywire. It sent cyclists down tiny roads to avoid the sporadic traffic on a slightly busier yet still insignificant road. A few miles further down the road it dumped me on the A74 main road into Scotland.

Sustrans, wake up!

Your routes are fabulous to follow. Provided you are riding a tandem, and your stoker is armed with a pair of binoculars and spends their entire time seeking out your diminutive route signs. Your circuitous routes avoid lesser roads in favour of tiddlers, and then dump unsuspecting cyclists on the most inappropriate of roads at the end of it all. Why do you build recreational routes which draw in huge amounts of motor traffic as leisure cyclists come from miles around to use these "safe routes"? Why don't you make safe, practical routes for real cyclists instead? Why, if I want to go from A to B, do I have the choice of a major road, or one of your routes that winds between C and Z in between? You are obviously too busy converting old railway lines to see the real problem areas that demand higher priority.

End of rant

I did indeed cycle along the A74 for about 5 miles, but I can't pretend that I enjoyed it. It's a noisy, filthy stretch of road, and I was glad to get off it in the end. Picture this: I was happy to get to Gretna! I entered Scotland at 10.02am, and stopped for the obligatory photo. Gretna was a complete building site, and besides, I had never heard anything positive about the place, so I made my way to Annan instead. Annan was very pleasant, and reminded me of Glasgow (if smaller) with its red sandstone Victorian houses. Also it had very clean public lavatories, which always pushes up a town's status in my esteem.

I stopped for a drink and a snack, and then pushed on. If only I had waited a couple of minutes longer: just as I left Annan I encountered 2 guys on recumbents going the other way. One of them had two safety flags, a jolly roger (which miffed me - the first 'bent I encounter is flying the same flag as mine!) and a Dutch flag. So these must have been the guys the bloke at the ostrich farm had been talking about. Had I been stopped in town maybe they would have stopped for a natter. But as it was, they were flying down a hill and were out of sight before I knew it. I was tempted to go after them, but carried on instead…up the wrong road. In my excitement I had not paid attention to the road signs, and missed my turning. I only realised my mistake when I reached the busy A75, about a mile up the road. About turn, and back down to the B724, a pleasant, quiet, flattish road which led me most of the way to Dumfries. But for the headwind it might have been idyllic.

To my consternation, I spotted a horse ahead, and slowed down. Horses really don't like Mercury, especially with his safety flag blowing in the breeze. Fortunately the rider turned off the road ahead of me, but shortly afterwards I encountered another being led along the road. It spotted me, and it definitely didn't like what it saw. They tried turning it around to face me, but that didn't help, so I stopped at the roadside while a girl led it down a lane. Meanwhile I exchanged a few pleasantries with the lady left behind. Apparently he was a bit of an old horse, and a bit set in his ways. Oh well, looks like he's coming to the end of the road. Glue or dog food - who knows? Too tough for human consumption, I guess. I do like a nice horse steak. But I digress.

The last stretch into Dumfries was along the A75, but it wasn't too bad. I did start wondering whether I had missed the town centre (a tragedy, as I was hungry!), but then stumbled across it by mistake down by the river. It seemed to be a very pleasant regional market town, and was buzzing when I got there, being lunchtime, with school children everywhere. Needless to say, Mercury drew the odd little bit of attention. One chap came over and started chatting to me. His son was at the time riding his bike across Australia. It takes all sorts! I found a nice bakery for lunch, and popped into Boots to stock up on power bars and drinks.

I still couldn't make up my mind where to aim to get to. The weather was still excellent, and I had already done 40 relatively easy miles by lunchtime, so Sanquhar appeared to be too close now. Maybe I could make it as far as New Cumnock? There was supposedly a campsite near there, and it would make reaching Kilcreggan by Thursday night that bit easier. I'd just have to take things as they came.

The A76 up through Nithsdale was marvellous. It was relatively flat, quite wide, and not too busy. Though it did rise constantly up towards Sanquhar, this was scarcely perceptible. I made another provisions stop at Thornhill, an unexciting little place stretched along the A76 about 10 miles from Sanquhar. Beyond Thornhill the road became very pretty, with the river Nith cascading down below and lush vegetation lining and overhanging the road. Most drivers probably don't even notice much of this detail. More fool them.

As predicted, it started raining as I reached Sanquhar at 4pm. I donned my rain jacket, but kept going as Sanquhar appeared to be the dullest town in Scotland. From here, the road started rising more sharply, and crossed over bleak moorland. I stopped in a lay-by for another fuel stop, and was almost blown off my feet by the blustery wind. More climbing got me to New Cumnock, where I was thankful to find that my legs were still feeling great, other than slight aching in the knees (which had been going on sporadically since Annan). New Cumnock is dreadful. No, it's worse than that. It immediately stole Wigan's Grimmest Place Trophy, no contest. I had to keep going. To be fair, it is an old mining town, so what could I have expected of it? Anyway, I had no choice but to go on, as the supposed campsite at New Cumnock failed to materialise along my route.

So where to instead? The legs just kept going, so I did too. The A76 had recently been upgraded, and now skirted around Cumnock and Auchinleck. The road descended gracefully down one side of a valley, and then swept back up the other. Just as I was crawling up the far side a voice came from behind. "So you're the End to Ender then". A guy on a Claud Butler tourer pulled alongside me. He had stayed at the Croston campsite the night after me, and was riding the End to End supported (aka cheating), in aid of the Eczema Society. It was his brother I had seen the previous day at Carlisle. He had been on the road a week less than me, and was aiming to do it in two weeks. Well, that's easy without luggage! His brother's job was to check that he was OK along the road, then seek out a campsite and pick him up. The next day he dropped him off at the same point, and they continued the journey. That way he avoided many of the additional miles I added, and thus his total mileage was about 200 less than mine!

We rode together for a while (except downhill, where my weight and aerodynamic advantages were very telling), and then his brother turned up, again with much use of the horn. He had had no luck so far, so I dug out my campsite guide and phone. The first place we tried wouldn't take tents anymore, which to me sounded like the strangest campsite around, and the second didn't answer the phone. It was pushing 6, so we agreed to keep going, and meet the brother again at 7 just outside Kilmarnock. I decided if he found a campsite nearby I'd camp, and if not, Kilmarnock beckoned. The roads on this stretch were fantastic. All the climbing up to New Cumnock was now being repaid in one long lump sum. By my calculation we had almost 7 miles of virtually continuous downhill. The only thing that spoiled it was the growing traffic level as we approached Kilmarnock.

We reached the preordained spot at 6.30, and the brother at 6.45. he had found a place not far from our first stop, so I decided to leave them at this point - there was no way I was going to climb that hill again! Their route differed from mine from this point on, so it was unlikely our paths would cross again. I wished them luck and headed for Kilmarnock, 4 miles down the road. But where to stay? I passed a Travelodge, which would always do as a fallback option. Into the centre I went, but found nothing. The tourist information was no more helpful. So I chose a random road out of the (pretty awful) centre, and chanced upon a B&B. Unfortunately, that room had just gone (the moment the owner saw lycra-clad me), but he recommended a place just up the road (he probably didn't like them). I found another place - whether it was the one I was looking for I don't know. They had a wee room at a fair price, and Mercury could be locked up in the yard at the back. The people were very friendly, and it was comfortable. Perfect! Time to relax a little. My first century: celebration time!

I asked the owner where he'd recommend for food, and he pointed out a Chinese, an Indian and a more traditional place. I made a couple of phone calls as I walked along, and saw this young bloke watching me as I passed him. I looked around a couple of places, but the traditional restaurant looked dull, and none of the pubs were inspiring. I went back to the Indian restaurant I had passed earlier. The guy who'd been watching me earlier was outside and intercepted me. He gave me some sob story about losing his wallet and needing the bus fare home, and was most insistent I should sub him some money. I honestly had no change. He even suggested I go into the restaurant and get some change! He then made some comments which made me warier, asking whether I was staying up the road, and that he'd seen me around earlier when I arrived. I warned myself to be on my guard later on, just in case. And if he touched Mercury, he was dead!

I had a great meal in the Indian. Great in the qualitative as well as the quantitative meaning of the word. I was ravenous, and consequently ordered far too much, especially as the portions were larger than I had anticipated. The whole thing came to £18, but that was alright, as I was more than sated, and well on my way after just 2 pints of Kingfisher! The waitress didn't know what to make of me. When I told her I had an appetite as I'd just ridden up from Carlisle on my bike, she asked if I was riding back again after dinner! When I commented on the size of the portions she informed me that they also did half portions. I thought "Now she tells me!" Afterwards I went back to the B&B (watching out for that dodgy character all the while), and straight to bed. At last my legs felt like they'd just come 100 miles!