Day 70- Brora to Dunbeath 25 miles

Start of the day, wearing my high-viz vest

  Today was hard. Harder than any other day so far and it had nothing to do with the actual road or land around me. Within a mile of camp my left foot started to be in real pain. There was no fall or twist, but hot fire seemed to have spread on the top and in step of the foot which meant every time I pointed my toes ever so slightly at the end of each stride shooting pains went up my leg. It got worse the longer I walked and I ended up limping and leaning on my poles. I tried tightening my shoes to give it extra support but it only made it worse, the extra pressure causing a constant dull pain. For ten miles I continued, head bowed. I'd not carried any pain killers as I'd not needed them for the last few months. I hoped to find a small shop in Helmsdale but after reaching it saw little on the main street and simply walked through, pausing as I climbed back out of the town to change my boots to sandals. Some relief, but by this point the pain was constant. Walking flat stretched of road and down hill were the worst.

Cooking pasta at the end of the day in my tent

  The day dragged and I made horribly slow progress, covering just over 2 miles an hour. The road around Berriedale was very steep and zigzagging hard to walk on: I constantly had to switch sides and hope that drivers would be sensible around corners. They were, and after rejecting another kindly offered lift I made it to the home straights. From Berriedale the road stops trying to kill you and straightens out along the coast. Then at the twenty mile mark something truly wonderful happened: my foot stopped hurting. The caught nerve uncaught or something and I no longer needed to limp. Relieved that the next few days wouldn't be filled with pain I completed the last few miles to camp and dumped my things. I stopped in a campsite just on the other side of Dunbeath, a very neat and loved place with unusually stylish showers and facilities. 

  In the shower I sat on the floor and waited for my muscles to ease for well over half an hour. Without realizing it I'd walked tense the entire day and it had totally drained me. Before camp I'd finally found a shop and bought some ibuprofen which would help tomorrow if things hadn't changed.  Cleaned I slumped back to my tent, ate and drifted off to sleep dreading tomorrow and hoping that my foot would behave itself. IN my sleeping back it still refused to allow me to point my toes, it didn't hurt while immobile but I dreaded tomorrow. 22 miles to Wick would not be fun if things stayed the same.

Day 67- Ardjachile to Dornoch 6 miles

  I woke up this morning feeling stiff, but more than that, fed up and hard done by. The fact that I was having a fantastic experience that few get to enjoy, seen some of the prettiest parts of the country, didn't matter. The world was obviously out to get me and I hated it back in kind. This actually means one simple thing: I really needed a day off as I'm turning more and more unreasonable. Unless you're Levinson Wood or other real explorers 280 miles without a day off it a tall order.

Dornoch Firth Bridge

    Today's walk only took two and a half hours. It was exactly what was needed, a quick jaunt across Dornoch Firth Bridge, followed by another side lane all the way to Dornoch. Again there is very little to describe. It was an easy stroll along a deserted track with the Firth to my right behind flat and bleak looking sand dunes and wooded moorland my left. One thing that did bring a smile to my face was the first sign for John o'Groats, only 88 miles to go!  

John o'Groats 85 miles!!!

  I tried Dornoch Caravan and Campsite first but been told it was £11 fee I left not too graciously. Within a few hours however I'd come to realize that it was in fact the only site within a few miles of the town. In the end, after spending even more money in a cafe, I sheepishly returned and payed for the next two nights. 
  My first impressions of the campsite were dismal, the man behind the counter looked high on weed and the cloudy sky made the whole place look dull and depressing. After I'd settled in a little, washed and relaxed I realized it was an unjust judgement. While it's expensive this does include showers, a tv room (to watch the tennis) and free internet which stretched across the entire campground. Moreover the camping area is quite sheltered with the beach barely two hundred meters behind. Even the people behind the counter became friendlier as I got to know them. It seemed, to me, a very well run family campsite.  

Dornoch Caravan and Camping Site

 Once I requested to watch the tennis a man came to mend the TV. I still caught the start of the match and was quite happy to sit alone in the room. The expense of the campsite is more than mediated by been able to sit for three sets without having to buy a drink- like I would have had to in a pud. When Federer thrashed Murray I actually felt relieved rather than disappointed: I'd watching the final between Federer and Djokovic if I could but it was no longer imperative and I could enjoy the next few days. If I passed a pub at the right time I'd drop in, otherwise I'd simply carry on and look at the score after. Murray would win next year.
  The rest of the day was spent lounging around and eating, I'd popped into town to buy some food but didn't look round at all as I'd have the whole of the next day to do so. Early to bed I revelled in the idea that I could sleep in as long as I liked tomorrow. The campsite was silent and I fell asleep easily.