At about 02:00, the people upstairs decide to have a pogo party.  Or they go to the loo.  Whichever one it is, the resultant creaking and groaning wakes me up.  Surprisingly, I drop off to sleep very quickly (I suspect the positive influence of good Scottish air helps and it is nothing to do with the whisky).  The rest of the night passes pretty smoothly and I wake up to find that I’ve been bitten … weirdly, only on one arm.  Cursing quietly, I navigate the rather unimpressive shower and get ready for the day.

My plan is to get some breakfast on the way out of Wick but I need to get going as I have a lot to take in today: John O’Groats, the Duncansby Stacks, Dunnet Head, Thurso and Tongue.  As I head north, I discover what Wick is really good at: potholes.  The road heading north is strewn with massive holes that cause you to lurch across the road to avoid plunging into Stygian depths.  The locals are clearly familiar with them, and you can see vehicles ahead of you suddenly moving into the wrong carriageway to avoid disappearing into the Lost World.  I split my concentration between avoiding the holes and looking for somewhere to get breakfast.  I don’t see anywhere suitable for a stop, so give up and head for John O’Groats.

The sat nav in the car decides to join in with the Scottish aversion to signposts in failing to recognise anywhere known as “John O’Groats”.  Despite my finding that very hard to believe, I head for Duncansby Stacks instead, and the sat nav picks that up.  Access to the stacks is on the road approaching John O’Groats – just showing that the sat nav has no idea what it’s talking about.  The road I turn onto is a tiny single-track road, clearly suitable for nothing larger than a car.  Of course, at the end in the small car park, 3 huge motor-homes are parked in an area clearly marked “Coaches Only”.  I’m very glad to have met neither motor-home nor coach on the way up here.

The car park is by a lighthouse and is perched on a headland with amazing views of the sea on three sides.  The Orkneys are dimly visible to the north. 

Luckily the weather is good today or this would be a horrible place to visit.  As it is, it’s extremely windy and I can imagine what it would be like in a storm.  The Duncansby Stacks are a short walk from the car park, over a low hill which does a great job of hiding them from initial view.  The stacks are amazing and as I walk down the low field towards them, I get a great view.  There are a few people here already and as I approach one of them, sporting a much more impressive camera than me, tells me that they have just spotted a Minkie Whale.  Naturally, it doesn’t return while I’m there. 

But that doesn’t matter because the stacks are incredible and are the first “wow moment” of the holiday. 

I head back and at the car park have a quick chat with two American tourists who are in search of puffins.  I can’t help them with that, but tell them about the Minkie whale and they get very excited and hurry off towards the stacks.

I then head off for John O’Groats which seems to be a large car park with some retail opportunities surrounding it.  The sign is very similar to the one at Land’s End and you can tell how early I am, because I manage to get several shots of it without having to fight a crowd of people off.

I recall being vaguely disappointed when I went to Lands End – and John O’Groats has much the same effect.  I’m too early for the cafes to have opened, so I head into the souvenir shops (pretty much the only ones that I find on the NC500) and get a load of stuff for people at work (the usual: chocolate, fudge, shortbread).  I also collect my travelling companion for the remainder of the journey: Hamish, the Highland Coo. 

Hamish would like it to be known that he picked me and that the holiday from now on is his idea rather than mine.  That’s good, because I can blame him for what comes next.

While online yesterday evening, someone asked if I was going to visit the Castle of Mey.  I hadn’t planned to but as it’s not far along the coast, I decide to give it a try.  The sat nav unerringly directs me off the main road and at a sharp right hand bend, sends me down a small track that goes off to the left.  It quickly becomes apparent that this is a farm track and is heading steeply downwards.  I look behind me and realise that the angle of descent makes reversing an unwise decision, so I have to plough onwards.  As I go down, the track becomes two deep ruts with a massive raised section in the middle, so I’m driving along at an angle with the left wheels on the central section, and the right wheels on the far side of the trench. 

Just as I’m about to give up, I come to a farm gate with an area beyond that is big enough to turn around.  From here I can see the Castle of Mey, but I have a horrible feeling that the road will either become undrivable or I’ll encounter a locked gate.  So I turn around and edge back up the hill to the road – where the sat nav still encourages me to take the farm track. 

Heading back to the main road, I find a much more sensible turning about a mile further on and I drive down to the car park.  It’s just gone 10:00 when I get there and the castle doesn’t open until 11:00.  I take some photos from the outside (including one showing the other end of my exciting farm track) and wonder whether it’s worth waiting for it to open.  My decision gets swiftly made when 2 coaches full of elderly women arrive – time to move on.

Next stop: Dunnet Head.  This is the most northerly point in the mainland UK and the approach is along yet another single track road.  There are more vehicles around now, and I get used to using the passing spaces – a skill that will become increasingly valuable as the holiday progresses.  Just as we’re on the final approach, I pass a car parked near a small loch (at what point does it become a mere?) and see a man clad only in a pair of swimming trunks walking back to his car.  Shivering in sympathy, I head on up to Dunnet Head which is bleak, windswept and slightly rainy.  Top of the world, ma!  (Well, top of the country, at least).  Getting out for a wander round and the door of the car nearly gets pulled out of my hand.  Ironically, this is the first place that I see a guy in a kilt (tick!) and he’s looking less than confident as the wind billows around him. 

On the way back, the swimmer is sat in his car.  Ironically he is now wearing a huge sweater and big woolly hat and looks colder than he did earlier.

My journey now takes me to Thurso where I will grab some lunch – and, actually, breakfast.  I have a wander around the main street and have a chat with a police officer about a good place to eat.  He has no idea as he is based out of Wick.  I commiserate with him, but before wandering off he directs me to the Y Not Café.  I get there at about 11:45 and settle down with the menus.  Multiple.  You see, they serve breakfast until mid-day, then there is a menu that runs until 17:30 and a third menu that has no time limits on it.  I’m really not sure which one I can use. 

The waitress removes my confusion by saying that I can order from whichever menu I want – which then raises the question as to why they have three menus!  I make my selection and announce that I will go for the Cheesecake of the Day for dessert – which, unfortunately, has not yet been made and so is unavailable.

I go for their signature burger (the Y Not burger) which is excellent – though it’s a shame they can’t follow basic instructions and as a result it comes with both tomato and coleslaw.

The ambience of the place is really nice, but somewhat marred by the couple sat near me with their delightfully noisy baby, who emits a variety of ear piercing shrieks that are guaranteed to remind you of a particularly gruesome slasher film.  Despite this, it’s a good lunch and the staff have been very pleasant – so when I realise they have under-charged me, I point it out, rather than cackling with joy as I head for the hills.

Heading firmly west now, I stop off at St Mary’s Chapel.  Navigating here has annoyed the sat nav system no end and it has taken multiple opportunities to steer me back onto the main road.  Ignoring it, I park up in somewhere that looks like a widened entrance to a nearby farm and look around for the path to the Chapel. There is at least a sign here, though it’s not near a path and there are no visible marker poles

It’s a pleasant walk in the sun and wind and I head down the path, until I finally find a signpost – conveniently placed so that it is just out of sight of the car park.  It again directs the walker to follow the marker posts – and there still aren’t any.  At the bottom of the valley I can see a footbridge, and so I hopefully head in that vague direction as one was mentioned on the original sign.  The path meanders down the hill and into the valley, where the footbridge crosses a scenic little river.  Then it’s up the other side, presumably in the right direction because once again there are no signs.

Working my way up to a stile, I still haven’t seen anything that looks a chapel.  Finally, I see a building surrounded by a wall and head towards it, wondering if this is what I’m looking for.  It is – but I can’t get inside as the gate is too narrow for me to get in!  Grumbling at this weightist entry way, I take a few pictures. 

This is a wonderfully remote location with no sounds but the birds and the waves – and the insects, which encourages me to reapply the jungle formula.  I then head back up to the car.

So far, the driving around the NC500 has been pretty standard, with the occasional foray off the main track and onto some single track roads.  As I go past Bettyhill, this all changes.  With no signage to warn you (no surprise there!) the road suddenly narrows and the central markings disappear.  The driving suddenly gets far more interesting and I start to get used to looking ahead for the passing places, which almost immediately become necessary.

I have read lots of people who have complained about the narrow roads, the inconsiderate drivers and the “bloody tourists slowing down the local traffic”.  There are a few comments I would like to make about this:
1) Driving on a single track road is actually pretty easy as long as you (and the other drovers are sensible).  You don’t look at the passing place ahead of you, you look two ahead.  That gives you plenty of time to react and to get into that next passing place.  You also need to assume that everyone approaching you is the width of a car – you might think you can safely get past that motorbike, but they won’t think so as you push them towards the edge of the road.

2) The vast majority of drivers I came across were sensible and considerate.  Most made sure to use the passing places properly (i.e. not use them as places to stop and take photographs from) which is important as many are only big enough for one vehicle at a time.  There is always the occasional idiot, but as long as it’s just one, they are manageable.

3) The basic rule here is that if someone is coming up fast behind you, get out of their way and allow them to pass you.  They may be a local who is more used to the road than you are or they may be an idiot.  To be blunt, it’s very difficult to tell!  I only had a couple of times where someone else caused a problem, and I never worked out to which group they belonged.

I have to admit something here – driving on single track roads is FUN!  I had to be so much more alert than on “normal roads” but the roads themselves were more interesting.  As this section progressed, there are sharp bends, roads with steep drops on one side, walled roads, roads along the side of cliffs, roads with limited visibility and sudden peaks and troughs – in short, roads that are fun to drive.  I’m more glad than ever that I’ve driven anti-clockwise because I’ve got my confidence back before heading into these roads, so I can really enjoy myself.

The increase in interest in roads is matched by the scenery.  The further west I go, the better the scenery.  Today is impressive, but over the next few days I get to drive through some truly majestic scenery.  And the worst of it is that I capture so little of it as there are very few places to stop.  I’m afraid you’re just going to have to imagine it.  While I’ve seen some good things so far, the road west of Bettyhill gives me my first taste of why so many people enjoy driving the NC500.  This holiday is now officially worth it.

However, I’m getting ahead of myself.  Just outside Bettyhill is one of the well-known landmarks of the NC500: the Crumbs Cake Cupboard which stands out from afar as it is painted a garish shade of pink (probably cerise, actually).  There is little left there when I arrive, but I buy a bottle of water and a slice of Mint Aero Brownie that I consume later on (and is very tasty).

I then head off to my overnight stay at the Borgie Lodge Hotel (Borgie Lodge Hotel).  I’ll say now that this place is more expensive than anywhere else I stayed on my holiday and the only reason I booked here was that there was nowhere else available locally.  But, I’m incredibly glad I stayed here and would recommend it to anyone.  The Hotel is stately and with some great views across the valley.  The staff are incredibly friendly and while the food isn’t the cheapest (the main course special was £30), it’s very good quality.

As I drove up to park, I for a moment wondered if I’d come to the right place.  It was clearly not the place to take a coo, so I left Hamish locked in the boot of the car.  (He moaned about that all the next day).  I’m soon settled in a comfortable room, which isn’t en-suite – but just down the corridor is my personal bathroom.  The room has two single beds as well as some comfortable armchairs and I settle into one with a view across the valley to keep an eye out for the deer that I’m assured sometimes come up the hotel. 

None turn up, unfortunately, so I head down to the bar and start the evening off with a pint of Thistle Cross – a 6.2% cider which is surprisingly light and worryingly quaffable.  Rather than my usual tactic of sitting down with a book, I have a long chat with the barman, who is one of the co-managers of the hotel.  We discuss the various types of whisky in his remarkable selection and he regales me with some of his stories.  He’s lived here all his life and talks about swimming in the sea (which just makes me shiver) and soon I’ve been told about swimming with seals, the island of inbred sheep and nearly swimming with orcas.

He then gets away from his clearly annoying customer and I end up talking to someone who is doing the NC500 with her sister and we spend a happy half hour comparing and contrasting where we have been.  Eventually, I head into the restaurant where I’m not sure how hungry I am, so I opt for a starter and dessert.  As a result, I have mushrooms Alfredo and cranachan (tick). 

The manager serves me and rather apologetically comments on the crispy leeks on top of the mushrooms Alfredo.  It seems that the chef likes to experiment – but judging from the taste his experimentation is worth it.

I consider heading back into the bar and grabbing some more cider, but fatigue wins out and I slump back to my room.