The aftermath, as it were. I met Peter and Geoffrey over breakfast, and wrote a little entry into the book Peter used to help remember people he met on his travels, a rather good idea actually. I suppose you learn such tricks after you've done 7 End to Ends! After breakfast Geoffrey had a quick go on Mercury, but soon gave up. Both he and Peter posed for photos on Mercury and then we went down to the harbour to catch the Orkney ferry.

I bought a huge stack of postcards from the shop by the quayside, but the miserable cow running it wouldn't give me a bulk discount. I hope her hut burns down! While I was in the shop I had left Mercury propped up outside, with cranks horizontal so that one pedal stuck out the front, preventing people from walking into my chainring. I always took this precaution to reduce potential collateral damage. Somebody walked up to Mercury, and turned the cranks so they were now vertical, and lined up the pedals so everything was neat and tidy. A German, what else! I glared at him and returned the pedals to a horizontal position.

Peter & Geoffrey

It was time to take some official photos at the signpost, and then we boarded the ferry. Fortunately the gangplank was wider than on the Kenilworth, and Mercury just fit between the rails. We found a good little spot for him and tied him up for the crossing. The only problem was that the space for him wasn't quite wide enough, so he disembowelled anybody entering the cabin while his flag whipped anyone climbing the stairs to the upper deck. Peter, Geoffrey and Richard had all come along for the one-day sightseeing tour of Orkney, and it was nice to have the company for a change. The crossing was interesting in that I had never been on a German invasion landing craft before! The boat was fine in these conditions, but I'd sooner take the large car ferry in heavier seas.

Once in Orkney I said my farewells and headed off. The tour buses soon passed me, and Peter waved to me through the rear window. Then there was silence. This was one of the quietest roads I had ever ridden, but that's hardly surprising, as aside from the ferry there is very little indeed on South Ronaldshay. The quality of the road surface was superb, the scenery a pleasant undulating one (though virtually without trees). I climbed slowly up a long drag of a hill, then thundered back down the other side. I passed pretty little places with wonderful names, like St Margaret's Hope. The sun was out, the strong wind was mainly across me, it was another glorious day. I caught my first glimpse of Scapa Flow, the Royal navy's former main anchorage, and started crossing the Churchill Barriers. Number 4 seemed to have acquired a sandy beach on the North Sea side, while at both Number 3 and Number 2 the old blockships still poked out of the water.

Churchill Barriers

Scapa Flow was a perfect deep water haven for the Royal navy, but it was vulnerable to submarine attack as there were so many entrances to guard. In the First World War, a number of blockships were sunk in the narrows between the islands between South Ronaldshay and Mainland in order to keep out U-boats. They were supplemented by a series of nets. More ships were sunk in the Second World War, but despite this, a U-boat managed to sneak in in 1939 and sink the battle ship Royal Oak, with heavy loss of life.

It was decided to close the gaps completely by creating a string of concrete barriers between the islands. Italian prisoners of war were drafted in to do the work, but as prisoners of war cannot be used in the war effort, the project was "converted" into a civilian one by building a road over the barriers.

The Italians stayed in camps on Lambholm, one of the smaller islands, where they built themselves a beautiful little chapel out of a pair of Nissen huts, which the people of Orkney maintain to this day.

At Barrier Number 2 I met an elderly couple who were touring the Orkneys on bikes, and we chatted for a while. Then I went on to the Italian Chapel, which was a most unusual building. The outside alone was decorated with the most intricate detail, but inside was even more remarkable. Everything inside was painted by an extremely skilful artist.

Onwards to the Mainland, over the last Barrier. A long climb brought me to the top of the penultimate hill to the South of Kirkwall, followed by a gentle freewheel for exactly a mile, before one last climb. A thundering descent past the sweet-smelling Highland Park distillery brought me to the centre of Kirkwall (well, I actually had a little difficulty finding the main street), with its glorious St Magnus' Cathedral, where I didn't find anywhere enticing to eat, so I went in search of the campsite instead. Out along the road past Safeway, and into open countryside. The book said it was a wee way out of town, but by the time I had ridden about 4 miles into a ferocious headwind I concluded I had come too far, so I consulted my map. The campsite was just past Safeway! Well, at least I had a tailwind on the way back into town.

Having pitched my tent in the howling wind, I flew back up to the distillery to catch the last guided tour of the day. I had some lunch while I waited for the tour to start - some fudge, all they had in their little café. Not the most nutritious meal around, I guess! I'd been to breweries before, but never to a distillery. It was most interesting, and, like most good tours, ended up in the shop for some tastings. I tried the 25 year old, but at £100 a bottle that was a bit steep, so I took an 18 year old with me instead. I can't say I was tempted by the 40 year old, retailing at £999, even if they did throw in a free Caithness Crystal tumbler!

On my way back to the campsite I stopped off in Safeway's, where I bought far too much food. I wasn't sure how I was going to cook gnocchi with a bolognese sauce with only one cooker, but I coped. The water took an hour to boil, and I was ravenous by the time dinner was ready. Meanwhile the washing I had done was being blown halfway across the campsite. Maybe clothes pegs weren't such a daft thing to take camping after all!

Finally I trailed back into town in search of some real ale - I hadn't had any since leaving Dent! Kirkwall is quite a pleasant town, but rather dull. The dull colour of the local stone doesn't help, but the atmosphere of the place seemed rather subdued. I tried three bars, which were all quite lively but not particularly pleasant, and the beer in them was awful keg stuff. I gave up and went back to the tent in the end. The locals' idea of a good Friday night seemed to entail driving up and down the main roads with their stereos turned up, and then congregating in car parks. I'm not sure I'd like to live in Kirkwall.