Don't forget to tidy the kitchen when you've finished!

I left my castle stronghold early as has become normal for me. I rarely stay asleep beyind 05:30 and given the mileage that I would have to cover today, I knew that with the likelihood of lots of stops to take in the amazing scenery, I would need all the day I could get.

I chatted briefly to the old boy who ran the petrol station on the way out of town. At 07:00, he was the only business open, as far as I could tell. Better still, he sold milk. We chewed over the anomoly of the road signs that had Oban anything between 90 and 54 miles away. We both felt pretty sure that 50 was more like it, but that Ballachulish, where I was eventually headed for probably was 80+ miles to the north.

I didn't get far. Four and a half miles out of town I stopped for breakfast. This was my kitchen for today. (Photos later when I have better reception.) I hoped at some point to see Otters from one of these beaches, but there were none here today. I have become adept at cooking a meal, clearing up and getting back on tghe road in pretty short order. You might think that I would want to linger longer, and I would, but I have too far to go today and want to try to squeeze in a longish break in Oban, where I hoped to write up yesterdays fun and games. In anycase on a bicycle you can be looking at everything as you go...including the potholes.

Given the distance I chose to miss out on some of the smaller back roads as I headed north, but the scenery is so stunning that there's much to see wherever you are. The traffic was relatively light this far south, though it certainly picked up north of Oban, including the odd car full of male youth that sadly has to go through the phase of needing to abuse all cyclists verbally even when travelling in the opposite direction???

This chap I'm sure has twice the intellect!

I shall have to try to let the photos that I have from today tell the story, since 86 miles of mountain and shore line might sound rather samey after awhile.

As an aside how about this for an idea how much energy I consume on a day such as this:

Half a packet of jelly babies.
A whole packet of caramel and chocolate digestives.
A full saucepan of porridge.
A full saucepan of pasta and soup mix.
A half a pint of 'kilt lifter' ale.
A serving of fish and chips.
A packet of crisps.
An apple.
Another large helping of tuna and pasta.
A bottle of lager. (Gift from a passing cricket team.)
Oh and 3 cherry scones.

That's what I got through today.

The over riding memory of today will be of the strong headwind that I fear will greet me all the way up the Great Glen, where I shall cycle in a couple of days time. However I also took great pleasure in sitting listening to the Eider Duck persuing this solitary dame. If you can find a video of Eider online, take a listen, they are very funny.

From Oban to Ballachulish they are working hard to complete the new cycle track that follows the old railway line. It will eventually make a superb touring path for anyone wishing to take alook at this part of Scotland by bike.

The path goes all the way into Glen Coe, where I finished my day. Afforded the same generosity

as previous campsites, I delighted in two showers and a very comfortable nights sleep. Take a look at these pictures from my front door.

Oh how could I forget to mention that I also saw my first seal and a pair of Golden Eagles today.

Forget the election. Who do you support?

I'll keep you in suspense on that little gem, but check out the photos when I can eventually down load them. I suspect that the 2G signal won't do it tonight, but I'll be sure to add them as soon as I can.

Well today has been a wonderful day in so many ways. It obviously began with waking up in a comfortable double bed as a guest of Alex and Christine, true samaritans in every sense. This blog has been full of thank yous, but this one is truly heartfelt.

After a hearty breakfast I was sent on my way with the wish of a wind at my back. I'm delighted to say that I had that and more. At times 15 knots minimum it boosted me up the hills aswell as down them and I covered the first few miles to my first turning point in next to no time.


Alex had said that I wouldn't miss it, since there was a monument or something there. No guesses to whom it was dedicated, since Robbie Burns figures so large in this part of Scotland.




Leaving Cumnock to the south east I quickly reached Dundonald and took the most fascinating tour around the castle there. I have never had such an interesting and informative walk/talk through the history of a place and I have included the website for your info and a series of pictures to illustrate the evolution of what was at one time and extremely influential seat of power.

The pictures show its development and how it is now. Check out the website for the detail.

Scooting through Irvine, I picked up NCN route 73 which took me via single track back roads and eventually along the sea front of Ardrossan, straight to the ferry terminal. The ferry didn't leave for nearly two hours, so I had plenty of time to cook some mid-day porridge and check up on the news online.

I had planned this route deliberately to include as many boat journeys as possible. My love of the sea, despite poor sea legs was cemented during 7 and a half years in the RN. I always jokjed that I joined the fleet air arm, so that when it was too rough at sea, we could take off and go flying instead.

The smells and sounds of ships are unique and I still often imagine the hum of the engines when I'm finding it difficult to get to sleep. Not a problem on this trip.

The journey across to Arran was soon over and I had a short 2 hours to pedal across the island to catch the last ferry to the Mull of Kintyre. With a 660 foot climb in the middle and with the tail wind, I completed the 15 miles in just over the hour.

At the other end I met Jean a young French engineering student who was spending four months walking around Scotland pulling his sled behind him. We spent an enjoyable hour or so together celebrating the rich history of adventure and exploration that our two nations share before going our separate ways. I wonder where he is now? I will publish his blog site when I find the piece of paper that he gave me.

Ten miles further along the road I crawled into Tarbert. An historic journey as it happens, since I had completed the same journey 25 years before, when I came here to work on Islay as a warden for the RSPB. My campsite for the night was the castle grounds which looked down on the sleepy fishing village below. Master of all he surveyed.....or maybe not.

I nearly forgot. This ite greeted me as I came into Lochranza. With the deer on one side and the sheep on the other and goals at either end this had to be the strangest line up on a football pitch that I had ever seen. Tempted to say...'great shot from the sheep..oh no one of the deer seems to have gone down!!

Short update

I'm about to get onto the ferry to Brodick on the Isle of Arran. From here I shall cycle to 15 miles to Lochranza. I need to cover the 15 miles in 2 hours in time to catch the last ferry off the island and onto the Mull of Kintyre.

Had a very enjoyable morning cycling 30 miles and visiting castles. More of which later. If you don't hear anything for a couple of days, you can either blame the awesome scenery or the lack of connectivity on the west coast of Scotland.

See you soon. Ben Nevis now 2 days away.

John

Dumfries and Galloway

It rained steadily all night, disturbing my sleep, but only with the noise on the flysheet. Having discovered that sleeping under the flysheet only and using the inner tent as a ground sheet affords me considerably more space, I am now able to pack my things away in their entirety without going outside.

I did this this morning, climbing into waterproofs before making my exit, only to discover that the rain had stopped. The skies were still leaden grey, but there were promises of breaks in the cloud to the north and west, which is where I was headed. It seemed that my luck on the weather front would hold up.

The 10 miles or so into Dumfries were unremarkeable really. Fields of rolling grassland with lots of smelly cows and sheep; it is trully amazing how the pungent odour of slurry can colour your image of a place, but being the strongest memory sense, I worried that Dumfries might always be remembered for this.

I stopped in Dumfries and populated Costa coffee again, where I new that I would get power for the computer, good coffee and a little something to tie me over before I stopped for my obligatory bowl of porridge later in the day.

Robbie Burns and his legacy are in evidence throughout the town and surrounding countryside. I was going to take a picture of the statue of him, but a gull was sat on his head and the evidence of so many others before this one was such that he looked a little sorry for himself bewigged with guano. Just to say that I've been there.

Heading out of town I passed briefly through Terregles, the ancestral home of the Carlisles, my father in laws mothers family. I include this photo for you Jack.

I spent the next 6 hours or so weaving my way through the country lanes following the A76 heading toward my eventual destination of Cumnock, in Ayr. I stopped for lunchbeside the beautiful River Nith and watched the young trout rise for the small number of flies that alighted on the water. On another day I would have enjoyed to cast at them, but today I was happy enough to be an observer and to take in the sounds of the Drumlanrig estate.

Just before 7 I arrived in Cumnock hoping to find information about campsites close by. Hunkered down on the pavement by a bridge crossing the Lugar Water I referred to the laptop for inspiration and was duly spotted by Christine and Alec passing by in their car. Recognising me for a fellow cyclist they stopped to ask if I was looking for accommodation.

I am now sitting in their wonderfully warm home having spent the night in a proper bed, eatne their food and drunk their beer. I have promised to return the favour by bestowing it on another traveller when I get back home. Alec and Christine, I am so grateful, not just for the hospitality but for the generosity of spirit that says more about this little town than words could.

Tight lines Alec and please thank your friend for the patience that caught him the Salmon.

To Scotland and beyond

Not at all sure exactly where I had pitched my tent during the night, I was keen to be up and away in good time rather be woken by some grumpy farmer. As it was I discovered that I had chosen my site well, being next door to the Scout camp ground. Let's face it, most of the bush craft and love of camping originated in my own scouting days way back when, so this seemed fitting.

I had become more pragmatic about my rooute finding after the last couple of days. Exhausted by the relentless hills and bumpy roads, I alternated the morning between a few short legs of A class roads and smaller back roads through the more interesting looking parts of the western lakes.

I fairly quickly arrived in Cockermouth and boy what a shock. Somehow I thought that the town would probably have recovered. After all it was last year that the flood took out the town centre, right? It just went to show that despite all the media coverage, nothing can paint the picture in a way that the people of the town would remember it. I came into town thinking firstly about getting a coffee, but was quickly taken aback by the number of shops and buildings that were boarded up. Many had signs saying open for business, whilst others quit evidently were still along way from being functional. As I drove up the high street the extent of the devastation became ever more apparent.

The large stone bridge at the top of the high street still lacked some of the topmost stone, where two large trees had become wedged against it, thrown there by the force of the flood. One gentleman that I stopped to talk to said that the water had run down the high street to a depth of 8 feet!!

I continued over the bridge and turned right. Despite the elevation here, it was obvious that the water had come down here too. I was now determined to spend some money in this town. I was conscious of not wanting to appear to be a disaster tourist, so took only one photo as I left the town of the remains of the footbridge across the river, but I felt uneasy about that. I include it here because I want anyone that reads this to have a reminder of what this beautiful little Lakeland town is still dealing with, long after the media have moved on.

The hotel that I stopped in provided my with a superb breakfast and I sat there for a couple of hours completing more blog entries for the previous days. In the hotel they have a copy of the photo album that was put together in the aftermath of the flood, presumably to raise money for the relief effort. The pictures are shocking, awe inspiring and a reminder of how powerful both nature and the human spirit can be.

I could have stayed longer. I would like to come back. I hope that some of you might to. The western lakes are beautiful and tranquil, Cockermouth, an inspiration.

The A595 I think it was sped me toward Carlisle, where I later to learn from Anna, that Gordon Brown was at that time touring and talking to the locals. I did skirt through the outskirts of town passing the castle, before picking up NCN route 7 which to my delight I discovered followed a new road not on Google earth, that ran alongside the M6, all the way into Gretna.

Another big milestone passed. I took in the multitude of references to marriage venues this side of the border before grabbing a swift coffee from a garage vendor, as much to make asking her to fill my water bottles more palitable. Why would I feel guilty about asking someone to fill my water bottles. I guess I don't like asking for anything for nothing. That despite being offered many kindnesses on this journey for exactly that.

Before I left Gretna, I quickly contacted the Queensway Caravan Park in Annan, who were happy to find room for me, preferably if I could get there before 8. Actually when they realised that I was doing this for charity, they relented and just said, 'turn up and we'll fit you in.' In the end I had the best pitch in town. My bedroom window, (tent flap) looked out over the Solway Firth and as the night closed in I was serenaded by the Oystercatchers and Redshank out on the tideline.

The campsite owner let me stay for free. Thank you again. Thank you.

Scafell Pike from Wasdale Head

More perfect conditions you could not ask for to climb a mountain. I woke at 05:30, thought it was 06:30, stripped the bed, used the bathroom, realised that it was 05:30, remade the bed and went back to sleep.

A similar tale was unfolding with the girls who were staying farther up the valley in the Wasdale Head Inn. Too much excitement. I was looking forward to climbing a second 3,000 foot lakeland peak with Lizzie and Anna. We had summited Helvellyn via striding edge 4 years ago in equally good conditions.

At the real 06:30 I packed up again and hit the road. This time the girls were waiting for the red bike as I came up the road. Anna was taking photos from the window and Lizzie met me in the carpark. I was glad for the help up the stairs with the bags.

After a big breakfast we headed out, following the footpath straight from the door. Stopping frequently to ooh and aah at the lambs, (the girls are as mad about them as George had been,) we eventually started the gentle climb across the contours to meet the ridge line up Lingmell.

The gradient increased dramatically from about 100m and with infrequent stops to catch our breath, we were soon on the levelish plateau below Lingmell's peak. From here we had unobstructed views of the summit of Scafell, though Scafell Pike, our destination, was just hidden behind a false summit.

There were patches of snow dotted across the northern flanks of both mountains and we couldn't resist the temptation of standing on one for a quick photoshoot. The ultimate goal pulled us on though and we were very soon atop the highest mountain in England. Two down, one to go!

The girls had done really well, completing the haul up the slopes in two and a half hours. The drop down to the valley took almost as long and was harder on both the knees and the thighs, but the attraction of a swift half in the pub was all the incentive I needed. I was not disappointed.

Discussions with the shopkeeper of the outdoor shop next to the pub persuaded me to change my planned route. Originally I had determined to follow the mountain bike route over Blacksail Pass before dropping down into the valley and out via Ennerdale Water. The steepness of the ascent coupled with the weight that I would have to push, however, made this hopelessly unrealistic and I was glad to change my plans. 'Flexibility is the key to air power' A phrase that I remembered from my time in the Fleet Air Arm, sprang to mind.

I stole a march on the following day by leaving that evening, cycling the 20 miles around the base of the hills, heading west and then north west into the village of Ennerdale Water. It was dark by the time I hid myself, my tent and bike in a wood and dropped off to sleep. A good days work well done.

Done In!

The day started off fine. I got up at 05:30, leaving the long term sleepers to their peace and quiet. My campsite looked none the wiser for my having been there. As all wild campsites should be when you leave them.

At that time in the morning the A590 south of the Lake District is all but empty and by 07:20 I was in a small market town whose name annoyingly escapes me for the moment. Anyway, given the instruments of medieval torture that still furnish the town square, the less time I spent there the better.

Actually there was a really nice looking inter-net cafe in the middle of town that was advertised as being open, even on bank holiday Monday, which of course today was. The only problem was that it didn't open until nine and I couldn't wait that long. Instead I sat on the town monument steps behind the stocks and cooked my breakfast. You guessed it. Porridge and dried bananas....again. All energy.

By 8 I was pedalling again, confident that I would be at the Youth Hostel, situated at the southern tip of Wastwater in good time. The only problem with using a road map to navigate with, however, is that it doesn't show the contours! The scenery was stunning, but the hills, and one in particular rising up from Ulpha, were sadistic. The road swept left then right, tghen left again, winding its way up the mountainside in an attempt to make the gradient acceptable. I wound my way back and forth across the road, within each sweep in an attempt to flatten it further. It was punishing. It went on and on and on and it nearly finished me off.

If you haven't gathered, my bike with all my stuff, is very heavy. Very heavy. I arrived at the youth hostel and being too early to book into my room, collapsed in the lounge of this fantastic house and promptly fell asleep.

Two hours later, the warden woke me and gave me the key to a room out of sympathy and because I was probably making the place look untidy! I gratefully moved my things upstairs, hand washed my clothes, cooked some lunch and went back to sleep for another 3 hours. I was the Doormouse at the mad hatters tea party. ( Alice in Wonderland. A play incidentally in which at the age of 11, I played Alice's big sister. My first line, I still remember. ' Columbus discovered a great big world far over the deep blue sea.')

At 17:30 fed up with pedalling, I thought that I would walk to Wasdale Head where Lizzie, Anna and Christine were staying. Hoping as I went that they had picked up my phone message begging a lift. An hour or so later having enjoyed the 4 mile walk, I joined the girls who by all accounts had been irrepressible all afternoon; looking out of the window for a heavily laden red bike to appear around the corner of the road beneath their window. Sorry girls.

Anyway, I stopped for a welcome supper of pasta carbonara, the girls favourite meal and the best energy filler for me and then scrounged a lift back to the youth hostel with a promise to be with them ready to climb Scafell in the morning. Easily visible above the lake, with clear skies promised for the following day, I was excited to tick off the second of the three mountains I had set myself to conquer.

This picture is actually of Great Gable, that the girls had climbed the day before. Another Lake District classic. Well done them.