Day Nine - A Great Big Day

We were thoroughly tired of being rained on, so we were encouraged by the forecast for today, even if it did start with rain. Another partial English with a big bowl of cereal for me and more of that great Scottish porridge for Myra and we were off, with clean dry clothes, as our host kindly did our laundry for us the night before.

Half an hour into the day the rain stopped, the sun came out, and we got a tail wind. What more could we ask for? We'd need it, as we had 97 miles to cover today and the usual dose of hills.

The morning passed by nicely, with not too much to report. Just a pleasant mornings ride. Nice country side, good weather, and no close calls with traffic. We were really looking forward to riding up the coast, with views of the ocean and mountains all around.

The only thing of note for the morning was when we stopped by the side of the road to have a quick bite to eat. A van slowly pulled to the side and stopped next to us to see if we needed directions. We thanked him and kindly said that we had it covered with our handy nav device, he asked where we were off to, gave him the low-down and then we started talking about our trip in general, and then about the trailer (as usual), and then tells us how he saw a motorbike pulling a miniature caravan behind it just the other day. Craziest thing he ever saw, he says. "Hold on, I've got a picture of it on my phone". So he digs out the phone and starts showing us the pictures. Sure enough, it was motorcycle towing a tent trailer/caravan type thing. Craziest thing I've ever seen. Well, it was interesting, anyway, and in any case, it was another example typical of our encounter with Scottish-types. He gave us the most detailed and convoluted directions in the end anyway, which was nice of him, so we looked as though we were concentrating and nodded a bit now and then, and resumed our peddling.

As we started to near the coast we stopped in a fabulous little town called Dalry for lunch. Just big enough that you could live there without going mad, but small enough to still feel like a small town, we stopped to pick up our usual pre-packaged sandwiches and fruit for lunch. Next to the grocery store, however, was a bakery that had a few yummy looking cookies in the window, so we wandered in there to have a look and found what ended up being one of the highlights of my day. I have a bit of a weak spot for baked goods, and there was no shortage of them here. We got a few home made sandwiches and more than a few cookies and squares, sat in the sunshine, and indulged.

Almost immediately we were joined by a little old dog who seemed to have been on his own for a while and looked a bit crazy as a result, so we had to guard our edible possessions, and then a passing postman stopped and chatted to us for a while. Everyone in Scotland seems so much friendlier. He told us how nice the next town was and gave us directions, even though we didn't really ask for or need them, and wished us well.

Climbing out of Dalry, we eventually descended down to the coast and into Largs to a view that you couldn't possibly tire of (two pictures up), and headed due north towards the ferry that divided up our day. It was a really nice stretch of road that smoothly undulated up the coast, wind at our back (mostly), sun shining in the blue sky, and fantastic views all around (above picture). Ten miles later we were glad to have reached the ferry, offering a short break and more good views. It reminded me of the ferry ride between Vancouver and Vancouver Island, and even had a miniature version of the view at Lake Louise.

Back on the bikes with 40 miles to go and my backside decided that enough was enough. My sit bones were absolutely screaming at me, and even constant repositioning was offering little respite. I popped a couple of ibuprofins and gritted my teeth, hoping the good weather and nice views would take my mind off of it.

The road took us through Argyl forest and along Loch Eck, which was a gorgeous stretch of road that went on for miles. My body wasn't to be ignored, despite the scenery. My butt, shoulders and neck had had enough. Myra was tired but was dealing with the miles better than I. Perhaps my old bike wasn't the best fit for long distances. I had to stop for a few minutes now and then, usually just to take a break, and a couple of times to done the wetwear.

This was a long day. About 70 miles into it we had the last big, sustained climb up into the hills just in case we weren't already tired, and then dropped down the other side to the loch we had been following for the past couple of hours. The last ten miles or so was a battle up and down an incessant series of small to medium hills, and my rear derailleur had decided that one of my favorite gears was no longer necessary and so booted me out of it at random. Combine this with my screaming muscles, and the last five miles were the last five miles I had in me. When we arrived in Inverarry, I had just tipped over the edge slightly, my body a bit short on energy and possibly water, so I was dizzy and couldn't think properly, not to mention a wee bit cranky.

We were shown to our room (which was, yet again, of a very high standard), had a quick shower, and sat down in their large and incredibly busy restaraunt for as much food as we could manage. Inverarry seems to be mostly tourists. Everyone around us had a non-English accent. There is a lot of logging nearby, but the town itself seems quite small and I'm not sure how it would sustain itself if not for the tourists. Inverarry is a really nice place, so I'm sure it does well.

When we got to our room we had a card waiting for us on the mantle, which I thought was from the B&B where I had previously smashed my head on the garage door (she seemed really concerned), but it was from the Rev. of our church, just wishing us well and that they are all praying for us, which made our night, and ended soon after. Sooooo tired. 14.5 mph over 97 miles had taken it out of us, but we were already looking forward to tomorrow's ride, which was ending up in Fort William, at the foot of Ben Nevis, the UK's biggest mountain.