Day 13 - Dumfries to Straiton

We'd both been looking forward to this part of the trip, and Scotland didn't disappoint. By lunchtime, I had knackered a set of camera batteries in a futile attempt to cop the natural splendour.

So many ingredients for good cycling:

Wide open spaces...

Forest...

Plants and that...

Sun-dappled roads...

Meadows...

Blue sky...

Big lunch...

Rivers...

Cake...

Purple flowers (lots)...

S - I - L - E - N - C - E...

Chorus lines of inquisitive moo-coos...

Dry stone wall + early evening light...

I took this very poor quality video around the same time:

* * * * *

Also – Rosie humiliated a pony by distracting it with a handful of grass and covertly styling its barnet:

That's about it for today. All fed and watered in Straiton; early start tomorrow, to catch the afternoon ferry over to Arran. Should be a bleak, Caledonian cragfest – in a good way.

Day 12 - Ullswater to Dumfries

Almost as soon as we got on the road, the savage hills of the Lake District began to soften into something a lot more cycle-friendly. Pretty soon we had straight, flat roads humming under our tyres, a powerful tailwind pushing us along at upwards of 20mph (non-cyclists – that's a lot).

This was the view in front of us:

...and this was the view behind us:

After the difficult, soggy struggle through the lakes, this freewheeling progress felt good. Here are some more pics...

Rosie improvises a Nature Hanky:

Here at last:

Famous creepy marriage place, Gretna:

Cheerily painted bus shelter, in the rain:

More tomorrow, when we get our first full day north of the border...

Day 11 - Capernwray to Ullswater

Rain...

Gloom...

Heavy, heavy rain...

Weather hasn't been a problem so far – we have rain gear and it works. But – a deluge is no fun, bike or no bike. After an intense downpour – it was just like standing in the shower – we squelched into Windermere, found a restaurant and sat down, steaming. Staff looked on uncertainly as we peeled off our dripping gear and draped it around the soft furnishings...

This has to be the least fun moment of the trip so far. Getting cold when you stop cycling is a problem at the best of times; being wet as well is worse; having limited dry stuff to change into (Rosie's panniers are as waterproof as Andrex), worse still. Undeterred, we put on our least wet outfits and pressed on towards Ullswater...

Putting a brave face on it:

Luckily, the Lake District is famous for spectacular, rugged scenery as well as godawful weather. For us, heading north from Windermere, this meant Kirkstone pass – a long, loong, damp climb followed by a hilarious, screaming descent. It's as close as you can get to a rollercoaster ride on a bike.

The top of Kirkstone Pass...

...and the snaky descent on the other side:

In fact, here is a video of the descent that someone else (thanks cmprops) has made:

Finally, our destination – outside...

...and inside, covered in our skanky, wet gear:

Tomorrow - Scotland.

Day 10 - Eccleston to Capernwray

Last night the netbook died. With all our photos and lots of draft blog posts potentially lost, this was disastrous. The mood last night was grim, therefore, as we shuffled to the pub – hence the lack of post about it at the time.

However...

Today's word is 'productive' and today's phrase is 'back on track'.

This morning, we located maybe the only Linux guy (we have a Linux laptop) in this part of the North-West, had a brief phone conversation and ferried our dead netbook to his Lancaster house in the rain.

On the phone to Wayne the computer man, Preston:

If you're reading this, he's managed to both fix it AND post it on to somewhere later in our journey. For now though, we can only wait and hope.

* * * * *

Aside from this drama, before we left our Eccleston hosts this morning, our brains had this unusual spectacle to process: feeding grapes who a tame white deer who wanders around the grounds. He's called Persil:

A damp and preoccupied day of cycling today, around Preston, Lancaster and beyond:

Relieved to have set the computer-fixing process in motion, we finally slumped gratefully over our pub dinner and Guinness at Capernwray (thanks to Roy for the lift).

Lake District tomorrow...

Day 9 - Cholmondeley to Eccleston

The cycling today was rolling and calm: nothing spectacular; thankfully nothing challenging either. Here are some photos:

Cow love:

Crossing the Mersey (at least, I think it's the Mersey) at Acton Bridge:

Primitive farmyard robot man, near Wigan:

One of umpteen motorway crossings. Not the most exciting photo but sums up much of the day:

Just north of Wigan, an old fella leapt into the road and flagged us down wildly. 'Lands End to John O'Groats, aye?!', he enquired. It turns out that he had done the trip (solo) some years before and, spotting our panniers, saw his chance for a chin-wag with like-minded souls. Brilliant - it's chance encounters like that make the trip what it is...

Day 8 - Samford to Cholmondeley

Welcome to Shropshire, land of funny signs. I especially like the first of these. You've got to watch those squaddies – they get over-excited and just dash out...

Today – on paper, at least – is by far our easiest day. We even slipped into casually referring to it as our 'rest day'. However, 25 miles is still 25 miles, complete with heat, traffic and sore thighs from the previous day. We still rolled up at the front gate tired and thankful.

Manor Farm is grand and down-to-earth all at once. There are impressive landscaped gardens all around but caravans, chickens and ducks out the back.

If you're the sort of person who laughs at ducks – and we are – you should chuckle at some Indian Runners. They have no arms/wings so rather than fly, get around in a high-speed Basil Fawlty walk.

These are different Indian Runners but you get the idea (with thanks to wiselywoven for the clip):



It's worth mentioning that we've had great B+B hosts all along the way. Today, the nearest pub (a swish gastro-joint in a converted schoolhouse) is 3 miles away. Host Jan not only dropped us off there for dinner but picked us up afterwards. Thanks Jan!

Between the B+B and the pub is a mad 'enchanted woodland' area – home to the purplest flowers in Christendom; also home to vicious moscos who fasten themselves thirstily to your shins the second you stop pedalling:

Finally, check out our calves – they're like baked hams.

That is all. Goodnight!

Day 7 - Worcester to Samford

More heat, silence and shimmering tarmac. It's like being in a David Lynch movie.

On paper, this is the hardest day so far: 60 miles and over 2500ft of climbing. That said, the climbs were manageable and the weather sunny. Still, it was TOUGH. Rosie's back is giving her a bad time again, so regular rest stops were a must:

Although we're mostly on main roads again, there's no shortage of natural beauty to make you exclaim loudly - and with foul language - if you just peer over the hedgerow...

We are now looking like LEJoG cyclists: tanned, dirty, and with burned bicep skin flaking away by the hour. Bike shop staff now just nod knowingly at us: 'End-to-End? Thought so...'

If you look closely enough at this portrait of skank, you'll see traces of cappuccino (2 sugars), 'death by chocolate' ice cream (2 scoops), sweat (lots), sun block (factor 50), and chain lube (teflon). Although you can't see it here, there are also some dead flies stuck to my face. I could choose to wipe them away but I prefer to leave them there as a warning to other insects.

Now arrived at Samford - a tiny, well-heeled village in Shropshire. The B+B is grand (Samford Manor, no less), the pub friendly, with amazing food (thanks, Three Horseshoes) and the countryside well-groomed. We're just glad to be here at last.

Night night.