FREE COUNTRY
A penniless adventure the length of Britain
George Mahood
Copyright © 2012 by George Mahood
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United Kingdom
First printed, 2012 www.georgemahood.com
Sections of Bike Britain by Paul Salter are reproduced by kind permission.
All photos are by George Mahood and Victoria Cookson (www.victoriacookson.com) The official Land’s End photo is used courtesy of Courtwood Photographic, Penzance. Cover photo by Andrew Mackintosh.
Acknowledgements
Firstly, I would like to thank Ben for taking part in this challenge with me. I may have painted a picture of him throughout this book as being a whinging, immature moaner – which is completely accurate – but he was also hugely entertaining, full of enthusiasm and brilliant company. His boundless energy and wit helped keep my motivation levels up throughout and I can’t think of anyone else I would rather have completed the journey with.
Huge thanks to Mark and Victoria for their part in this project and I hope that all of their hard work is rewarded.
Special thanks must also go to Rachel for her love, support… and proof reading.
And finally, and most importantly, I would like to thank the hundreds of amazingly kind and generous people that helped us along the way. Whether this was with food, clothes, bikes, accommodation, directions, conversation or beer, we are incredibly grateful for their part in proving how brilliant the people of Britain are. Without these people, this adventure would simply not have been possible.
BIG LOVE to all of you.
For Mum and Dad
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Day 1 - The adventure begins...
Land's End to Zennor - 16 miles
We were standing in our pants on the end of Britain. The sea chewed at the land around us, and the wind and rain attacked from all angles. We had the skin of freshly plucked turkeys. Cycling 1000 miles to the top of Scotland without any money, clothes, shoes, food or bikes, suddenly felt like a really stupid idea.
Land’s End is frequented by three types of people; disillusioned holidaymakers who imagine that a trip to Britain’s most south-westerly point is a rewarding experience, tourists who arrive there by mistake when they run out of road, and those who are starting or finishing the popular Land’s End to John O’Groats expedition. We fell awkwardly into the latter category.
The plan was simple. We had three weeks to get from the bottom of England to the top of Scotland – by foot or by bike – without spending a single penny. Setting off in just a pair of Union Jack boxer shorts, we hoped to rely on the generosity of the British public to help us with everything from accommodation to food, clothes to shoes, and bikes to beer.
I was working as a photographer at the time. At least, that’s what I told people. I quit my stable, easy and fairly well paid job a few years previously to become a full-time photographer. In truth, I spent my days doing unstable, mundane and badly paid temping jobs in order to pay the bills. The photography jobs did come in very occasionally and they provided me with enough credibility to convince those around me that the decision to leave my job was a wise one. I took a picture of a friend of a friend’s dog the previous month and I had a bar mitzvah booking for the following year. Business was really booming, oh yeah.
My travelling companion was Ben. Ben worked as a composer and an actor, appearing in a number of Oscar-winning blockbusters such as Harry Potter, The Phantom of the Opera and Lord of the Rings. He had also appeared in countless TV shows including Eastenders, The Bill and Casualty. When I say ‘actor’, I mean ‘extra’, and you would have to be incredibly quick-fingered with the pause button to spot him in ANY of his roles. As I mentioned, he was also a composer. Specifically, he made music for film and television. Three seconds of his music once featured in a Taiwanese computer advert - shown only on the internet - and he was still reeling in the glory of that moment. He spent his days watching Bargain Hunt and waiting for the advertising agency to phone back.
I asked Ben to join me on LEJOG (this is what those in the know call the Land’s End to John O’Groats trip. It’s an acronym, you see), because he was the only one of my friends that fitted the necessary criteria; he was a self-employed layabout like me who did not need permission to take three weeks off work at short notice.
We started early, at about 7.30am, in order to minimise the amount of people that would have to witness our scrawny bodies. The coastline around Land’s End is impressive, but there is no sense whatsoever of being at the end of the country. Try standing there in your pants in the wind and rain, however, and it definitely heightens the experience.
The footpaths around the Land’s End complex were not designed with the barefoot walker in mind, and the heavy gravel cut into our feet at every step. In fairness, it is unlikely that many visitors to that part of Cornwall come without shoes. Even the notorious ‘Naked Rambler’ wore a pair of walking boots. The cheating bastard. You can visit his boots – if you are really bored - in the ‘End to End Experience’ museum, which forms part of the Land’s End complex. He is mentioned alongside Ian Botham, who has famously walked the route twice, and next to the story of a man who tried to push a pea with his nose the entire way. He got about two miles before he realised that it made his nose hurt.
We met up with Jemma - the End to End co-ordinator. Jemma had possibly the most enviable job in the world. Her working day involved sitting in a little office by a log fire, looking out to sea. She occasionally had to say ‘Good Luck’ to people like us who were setting off to John O’Groats, or ‘Well-done’ to those who had finished their journey. This, it seemed, was all she did. I was incredibly jealous.
We asked her if she had any interesting stories of fellow End to Enders, and she told us about a cyclist being hit by a car and killed, and another one concerning a group being robbed at gunpoint. These were not the inspirational, feel-good stories we were hoping for.
The idea of the penniless challenge was founded on the belief, that, as a nation, we have lost sight of the basic values of humanity and kinship. We tend to be very suspicious of those that we don’t know, and of anything that falls outside the realms of normality. Britain is broken, or so we are led to believe, and every unfamiliar face masks an axe murderer or terrorist. We choose to close our doors and hide from the outside world.
I wanted to prove this notion wrong. I strongly believed that there was still a lot of good to be found in society, and that there lies within everyone, the desire to help others. By travelling without money and provisions, we were putting ourselves completely at the mercy of strangers, relying on their generosity to get us through.
The Land’s End to John O’Groats challenge is an iconic British journey, and it seemed to tie in perfectly with the penniless format of the trip as it encapsulated the whole of Great Britain.
Clothes were a priority.
We stood little chance of getting food, accommodation or bikes with our pasty bodies on full show. Also, it was bloody freezing and we didn’t want to become the first people to die at Land’s End before crossing the official start line. Although, if we had, Jemma would have had another story to tell other End to Enders before they set off.
‘Wel
l if you make it past the visitor centre,’ she would say, ‘you’ll have done better than George and Ben. They died right here in their pants.’ It would have made her day.
We wandered aimlessly around Land’s End not knowing what to do or how to begin the ridiculous challenge that we had set ourselves. After a few minutes of roaming we got talking to the only other weirdoes who had decided to visit Land’s End at 7.30am on that unforgiving morning. They were Australian. We explained to them why we were standing there in our pants.
‘Strewth, and we thought people back in Oz were mad,’ said Bruce.
‘Crikey,’ said Sheila. ‘Bruce, go and get that old t-shirt from the car for these fellas.’
‘No worries, Sheila,’ said Bruce. Bruce and Sheila were not their real names. Their actual names were lost in the wind somewhere.
Bruce and Sheila were halfway through their five-week world tour and had been in England just two days. Why they had decided to come to Land’s End we had no idea. They were in their early forties and were travelling with another couple, Kylie and Jason, and the four of them were dressed like a mountain rescue team, as southern-hemisphere visitors to England tend to dress. Only a few square inches of their faces were exposed to the elements, but this was enough to see their kind and genuine smiles.
Bruce returned a few minutes later with the t-shirt. It was a momentous occasion; our first freebie and we hadn’t even asked for it. The t-shirt itself was an XXXL made of silky white polyester, with a cigarette burn in the back and an inescapable scent of Australian body odour. I tried it on first, as Ben seemed more comfortable than me to prance around Land’s End almost naked. It was ridiculously big and made me look like I was wearing a parachute.
The t-shirt did make a huge difference, however. Not only did it repel some of the icy temperatures that were being thrown at us, but it also transformed my confidence. I was instantly changed from a shivering fool in a pair of Union Jack boxer shorts, to someone that was about to cycle 1000 miles to the top of Scotland. The fact that I was still only half clothed and didn’t have a bike was purely incidental.
We thanked Bruce, Sheila, Kylie and Jason and urged them not to judge England by Land’s End, or the English by us. We decided to make our way to the Land’s End Hotel, as it was the only place likely to be open so early. We had high hopes of raiding the lost property for some more clothes.
On our way to the hotel, Bruce’s friend Jason caught us up.
‘G’day again, guys. I got this for ya, too,’ he panted and handed us another t-shirt. This one was cotton, clean, white, without cigarette burns and a cosy medium fit. I regretted hastily grabbing the first one. Ben gave me a smug grin.
The Land’s End Hotel is a fairly ugly building, and is therefore in keeping with the surroundings. The interior, however, is rather posh and the reception area was crammed full of elderly American tourists who had been lulled there by the notion that it was a charming hotel perched on the edge of the country. There was an air of deep disappointment in the room. The conversations stopped and they all turned to watch as we entered the reception.
‘WHATTA YA DOIN?’ yelled one of the Americans who looked close to a hundred and spoke at twice the necessary volume.
‘WE’RE ON OUR WAY TO JOHN O’GROATS AT THE TOP OF SCOTLAND,’ said Ben, replying in a volume equal to the old man’s.
‘YOU’LL END UP IN HOSPITAL,’ shouted the old man.
We both gave a nervous laugh and shuffled our way to the reception desk. The Americans shuffled out of the door through which we had just come, ready for their day of fun.
The hotel receptionist forced a smile when she saw us. She was in her late thirties and had the look of a supply teacher who would take no shit.
‘Hello... Ruth,’ I said, spotting her badge and dropping her name into conversation like a sleazy salesman, ‘I wonder if you can help us.’ Her smile disappeared and she began to look panicked. ‘We’re about to attempt to cycle to John O’Groats without spending a single penny…’ Her face turned to mild bemusement as though she had just been told the punch line of a joke she didn’t quite understand. ‘…and all of our food, accommodation, clothes and hopefully bikes will have to be acquired from the generosity of the British public,’ I continued, sensing she was beginning to warm up, ‘and we were wondering whether the hotel had any lost property that had not been reclaimed that we could possibly have?’
There was a long pause. A sense of relief passed over Ruth. My speech was over and she realised she wasn’t being robbed, she wasn’t going to have to sponsor us and we weren’t asking her out on a date.
‘Ok,’ she said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ She disappeared into the back office and we were left alone.
A middle-aged man and his wife arrived at reception to check out. He was dressed head to toe in Lycra and was wearing a pair of cycling gloves. He had a cycle helmet in one hand and a drinking bottle in the other. With some careful deliberation we guessed him to be a cyclist. Our suspicions were confirmed when we noticed that he was wheeling a bicycle.
‘Are you going to John O’Groats?’ asked Ben.
‘I sure am,’ said the cyclist.
‘I’m his support crew,’ said his wife.
‘We’re cycling to John O’Groats, too,’ said Ben, standing shivering in a pair of damp boxers and an ill-fitting t-shirt.
‘Really?’ said the cyclist, who then gave a laugh as if to say ‘you nearly had me there.’
Although our goal was the same, the differences between us could not have been further apart. He had at least £2000 worth of equipment, top-of the range Lycra cycling clothing, a lightweight Gortex jacket and a devoted support crew. We were unsupported, barely clothed and without any form of bike. Oh, how we longed for a couple of carbon-fibre racing bikes, waterproof jackets and a support crew. And the Lycra was strangely alluring, too.
The cyclist’s name was John and he was about to begin his second End to End trip. He had completed the trip with a friend a few years previously and wanted to do it again alone, with his wife following behind in the car. He was aiming to finish the trip in ten days. We imagined we would probably still be in Cornwall in ten days. John explained that his Dad had been a professional medal-winning cyclist and that he had always lived in his shadow. Doing the Land’s End to John O’Groats trip was his way of making his dad proud.
Once he understood that we were serious about our trip, he took a keen interest in how we were going to go about it.
‘You’ll need some shoes and socks,’ he said. ‘Hold on, I’ll be right back.’ His wife took hold of his bike and he scurried out of the door. He returned a minute later with a pair of trainers and a pair of socks.
‘Take these,’ he said, worryingly out of breath for someone about to cycle to Scotland. ‘I brought way too many pairs of shoes and I never wear these anyway.’ They were white leather trainers, slightly retro and a perfect fit for either of us. We thanked him gratefully and wished him luck for his bike ride. We had earned the respect of an End to End veteran and we had not even crossed the start line.
Ruth returned from the office holding a big box of lost property. She dropped it down on the reception desk in front of us and our eyes scoured eagerly over the contents like a couple of clothes perverts.
The first item that caught our eye was a pair of thick, woollen, pinstriped suit trousers. They were tailor-made to fit a big fat man. Ben decided I should have them, since I was the larger of the two of us. After trying them on, it was clear that there would have been room for both of us. Not only were they for a big fat man, but they were also previously owned by an extremely short fat man, or someone with a penchant for wearing their trousers at half-mast. The trousers hung halfway down my arse, and stopped halfway up my shin. I looked like the lovechild of a gangster and a sailor. It was EXACTLY the look I was going for.
Also in the box were two cardigans. Ben took the trendy, skimpy black number and I took the thick, granny blue one. We only took items that
had been unclaimed for over three months, so as not to get into trouble with any angry tenants. Although, I’m pretty sure the ‘finders keepers, losers weepers’ defence would have held firm. We also took a baseball cap each. I’m not sure why, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. Ben had an England football cap with a St George’s Cross on the front, and I had a retro Manchester United cap. We looked like a couple of chavs. Chavs in cardies.
The final item of lost property that we acquired was a child’s pink umbrella. We naively thought that it would shield some of the rain for a while, and we thought it might also be a useful bartering item to swap at some stage of the trip. It proved to be neither.
We were delaying the inevitable.
At some point we were going to have to leave the relative comfort and security of Land’s End and start our journey towards John O’Groats. We had scavenged as much as we could from the hotel and it was time to leave. On the way out we bumped into Jemma again. She was armed with two ‘official’ Land’s End t-shirts, which she kindly presented to us. Normal people have to pay for these, but we had told her that payment for anything was prohibited in our world. We pulled these on over our cardigans and we were ready to go. Land’s End – been there, done that, and now we had the t-shirts.
Almost fully clothed, we were about to begin our journey towards Scotland. The official start line is in the car park and not by the sign, as you would expect. Crossing it was certainly an anti-climax. Our farewell party consisted of two old ladies, but it turned out that they were just waiting for the toilets to be unlocked. Even so, they uttered a half-hearted ‘good luck’, raised their eyebrows and smirked at each other.
We were finally on our way.
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