The 1000 mile barrier, broken. Now we were really shifting, 169 miles in just 2 days. I was glad that Scotland is flat. No, seriously, it is. Scotland may look hilly, but the Scots, being canny folk, were bright enough to build their roads up the valleys rather than over every hill they could find, unlike their dopey Sassenach neighbours or their daft Cornish cousins!

Speaking of dopey, I had forgotten to put on the blindfold I had bought in Kilmarnock, so obviously I woke up at first light, which on midsummer morning in Northern Scotland, was quite early. Also I was cold, as my jacket, which I'd been using as a blanket, had slipped off during the night. Despite all this, I ignored my alarm as usual and dozed until about 8.15. So much for the early start.

Striking camp was a terrible affair. I was invited to a sumptuous breakfast. The problem was, the midges were the hosts, and I was the main course. I must have done something wrong, as when I got up I was inside the tent and the midges outside. By the time I was packing my bags, I was outside the tent, which had been taken over by the midges. Hm.

One good thing about this campsite was the showers. The timer for my shower was evidently malfunctioning, as it gave me about 20 minutes of hot water for just 20p. But I'm not complaining. These were definitely the best showers I'd encountered all trip.

I left around 10am, which was bound to have repercussions on how far I'd get that day. I'd better stay in a B&B that night, to be sure of an early start the following morning. I also didn't know what to make of the weather. It was cool out when I set off, so I wore tights under my shorts (they wouldn't fit over them, but the disadvantage was, I wouldn't be able to remove them if it got hotter), and my jacket over a long sleeved top. I got about 3 miles down the road before having to remove the jacket, and my legs had already started to feel distinctly warm.

The first stretch of the journey was a bit dull. The scenery in this part of the Great Glen is not too spectacular. The prettier parts only began after Spean Bridge, but first I had to get up the long drag into Spean Bridge, then after a short drop another steep climb led up to the Commando Memorial. One stretch of the A82 along Loch Lochy runs right along the edge of the Loch, with beautiful views to either side. I started racing a little pleasure cruiser steaming up the Loch. I won hands down…Unfortunately this flat stretch didn't last nearly long enough, and the road started rising and falling sporadically. The good part about the higher bits were the stunning views down over the Loch. Also, the road kept on switching from one side of the Loch or canal to the other, so I got good views of both sides of the Glen.

I noticed a cycle path which goes all the way up the Great Glen, but it's a gravel track and therefore totally unsuitable for a recumbent, especially with all this luggage. I also noticed a sign to Invergary along the track, indicating it was 7 miles away. It was 5 miles by road at that point!

Fort Augustus came as a great relief to me, as I was flagging badly despite a fuel break a little way up the road, and also my right Achilles tendon was flaring up again, having been peaceful since near the beginning of the trip. I popped into the Spar by the flight of locks at the heart of Fort Augustus, for want of a better place. Time to make my own corned beef rolls - some to eat now, some later. I sat by the locks, next to the shrubbery in the shape of Nessie and Sprog, and watched a boat going through the series of locks. What a slow process! Still, it kept the crowds entertained. As I was about to leave I was assailed by an elderly chap, who wanted to know about Mercury. He had ridden Malin Head to Mizzen Head (the Irish End to End) along the coast in the past. He was also heading up to the top, so there was a chance I'd run into him again.

I got back on the road at 2, which was very bad indeed. I had only done 35 miles so far, compared with 60 miles this time the day before. Drumnadrochit was 18 miles away, a good target point for my next fuel break. But the road along this stretch undulated quite a bit, and I also encountered some of the worst driving I had seen in Scotland, with people passing too close and too fast. Especially that git in the Audi with Swedish plates. Actually, quite a few of my closest passes were by cars with left hand drive. Obviously people feel that they can judge that side of the car better, so they can pass much closer. It's a logic which defied me. And then there was the long stretch which was limited to 20mph due to stone chippings. Well, I can assure you that apart from me, no-one limited themselves to 20mph, as a result of which several small stones, thrown up by passing cars, stung my right hand. Still, on the bright side, the views over Loch Ness from this road were wonderful, so apart from the odd inconsiderate bastard, it was a glorious ride in beautiful sunshine.

Urquhart castle came up, and I stopped to take in the view. The car park was full, with traffic wardens trying to control the situation, and only causing even greater tailbacks. Cars - what an awful way to travel and see the country! I stopped for some fuel, and went to the viewing platform to take some photos. Meanwhile, a couple of cyclists also turned up. I recognised them - they had been in the pub in Glen Nevis. Now if only I had chatted to them, as they turned out to be doing the End to End too! They were riding tractors with slicks, and were travelling what I would call "light". Medium sized panniers and a rack-top bag each. How on earth did they do it? One answer is, they were not camping, just B&Bing and youth hostelling. We had a brief chat, and then they went to take some photos and I decided to have a look at Mercury. I wasn't happy with the steering, which felt too soggy and flexible. I eventually tracked the problem down to 4 bolts which attach the telescopic steering arm and which had come a bit loose. Tightening them, worked wonders - I was nearly sent flying by the crispness of the steering when I set off again! I noticed the signs at the car park exit reminding people to drive on the left in umpteen languages. You'd think they's have got the hang of it by now! I didn't go far, just to the other side of the car park to take some more photos. The other two joined me there, and we rode together all the way to Drumnadrochit - all of, ooh, one and a half miles. Downhill I left them standing, but they caught me again on the flat.

In Drumnadrochit I turned left for the Beauly road, while they carried on towards Inverness. At this point I acquired a couple of groupies, a pair of teenage girls on bikes who decided to follow me at a distance. However, they soon gave up as I started climbing the outrageous hills on the A833 to Beauly. Once again, OS have goofed and missed a chevron off the map. I thought it was just going to be a single steep climb. In fact, it was two in quick succession. The climb started in woodland, with the sun beating through the canopy and no breeze to cool me down. And there I was, stuck in my tights and long sleeved top. Having pushed up the 1 in 7, the road flattened out, and I took a break, rolling up my tights to try to cool down my legs. I got going again, only to find another climb lurking around a corner, this time a 1 in 6. That's just plain nasty! As the road rose, woodland gave way to heathland in full bloom, with a carpet of yellow blossoms stretching to either side and magnificent views beyond that. It was a truly idyllic ride as the road snaked its way across this heathland.

The descent on the other side made all the suffering on the way up worthwhile. A single, long, shallow descent, absolutely straight, and with excellent surface. It brought a tear to my eye (I wasn't wearing my goggles and almost hit 40mph) and a grin to my face that was hard to remove. But all good things come to an end, and I soon entered Beauly, an attractive little town. But I had to press on, as I wanted to get to John O'Groats in two more days' ride. Dingwall was 11 miles away, and maybe I'd even get beyond that. At Muir of Ord a mother and child provided some entertaining cabaret: the child ran out into the road without looking, and the mother just managed to grab him and pull him back. She then smacked him for his carelessness - the smack sending him flying back into the road…OK, I was the only traffic coming, so there was no harm done, but it amused me.

I arrived in Dingwall, and decided that this would do for one day. I hadn't realised that Tain, initially a putative target for the day, was so far from Fort William - it was still 20 miles from Dingwall. So I found accommodation thanks to directions from a newsagent's. The place was very pleasant, the owners extremely friendly. This would do nicely. I was starving by this point, and headed into town. Dingwall is quite a modern place, and not terribly attractive, although the main street is more pleasant than the rest of the town. It was, however, a rather dull place, but to be fair, it was a Tuesday evening, and few small towns are buzzing on Tuesday evenings. At one point I passed a pub called Harry's Bar & Internet Café. I'd have to check this out later. I had promised people email updates along the way, but warned them not to expect too many emails from the Highlands. Well, this was the first internet café I had stumbled across - and it was, of course, in the Highlands!

Having perused the choice of eateries on the main street - not too many - I opted for dinner at the Royal Hotel. It looked to be a bit of a dive, somewhat run down, but the food was actually very nice and not at all expensive. A pair of elderly couples with Highland accents (an accent I am extremely fond of, by the way) eating at the table next to me (sorry, when you eat alone you tend to pick up on other people's conversations even if you try not to) were commenting on what a lovely place it was, and wouldn't it be nice to have Christmas dinner there. Well, as I said, the food was pleasant, but I wouldn't have gone to that extreme about the décor!

After dinner I made a beeline for Harry's, and eventually I coaxed the PC they had on the counter (the internet café section of the pub) into co-operating with me (the barmaid may have been extremely cute, but she had no idea how to operate the PC, so I had to figure it out myself). I got my Internet fix, catching up on the latest Tour de France and general cycle sport news - the general uproar resulting from numerous doping scandals. The I sent some progress reports by email ("Almost there - STOP - Can't be bothered to finish it now - STOP"). At this point some lunatic decided I was his friend, and started talking to me. I have no idea what he was going on about, indeed, I doubt he knew, but I did have difficulty getting rid of him. All the cute barmaid could say about it was "That's what happens when you go to pubs on your own". Thanks, babe, but whom should I have brought? My B&B landlord? All I was doing was reading my book in peace…

When I got back to the B&B at 11.30 I was locked out. They had told me to come and go as I pleased, as the door would be open, so I did, and it wasn't. After much ringing of the bell the landlord eventually came and opened the door. Apparently they had thought I was in already, and had locked up for the night. Or maybe they just didn't like me!