France, at last!

Mas de Flory, Degagnac, France

Well, I've been yearning to visit France for a long time, I'm finally here and it doesn't disappoint.
I have just eaten the perfect lunch, fresh bread, delicious cheeses, balsamic dressed tomato, sun ripened peaches and strawberries. Nothing exotic I hear you say but wow, the textures and flavours were outstanding. Brie, au point, melting like butter on the palate, full of flavour but not overpowering; a local hard cheese, Florian, also full of flavour but sharper and contrasting in texture. The tomato tasted as thought it had just been plucked from the vine, sweet and succulent. The peach was one of the doughnut variety, I have only seen these for the first time this year, beautifully tender, juicy and full of flavour. The doughnut shape makes the fruit very easy to eat, its flattened profile enabling one to bite without ending up with juice everywhere, the flesh surrounds a tiny stone in the centre, much easier to manage than the conventional spherical fruit. The strawberries were amongst the most flavourful I can recall. I could not have imagined a better lunch on a hot and drowsy summer's day.
I arrived here yesterday afternoon having flown from Leeds to Bergerac. My hosts met me at the airport and apologised for the fact that they had planned a visit to the local sport superstore on the way home. It is just as well that I have no space to carry anything more as there was plenty of temptation to purchase 'stuff'. It was a great store, whole sections dedicated to various sports and outdoor activities. The horsey bit was especially tempting, I nearly bought Lucy some jodphurs. The cycling bit was not quite as attractive, not much in the ladies section at all, just as well.
The next stop along the way was for lunch. I cannot recall the name of the village, but if you look at the photos I have put on picasa the ones with the bunting are the lunch venue. We had lunch in a little local restaurant sitting outside under a big umbrella. The lunch was nice but we all agreed not outstanding. The most amusing bit was the arrival of the local pompiers for their midday meal, too bad if there is a fire at lunchtime. They greeted everyone in the restaurant, including us and sat at what was obviously their table; they are very much a part of every small French town and are greeted enthusiastically by everyone they meet. 
Having consumed a generous lunch we set off for home. The drive took us through beautiful rural scenery with rolling hills and valleys, pretty villages decked with colourful flowers,past fields of fat glossy cattle switching their tails  lazily in the afternoon heat, mares with foals dozing beside their mothers. High above the road imposing chateaux made statements about times long gone, what stories could they tell? The road ran for some distance alongside the Canal du Midi and the Dordogne river. The canal looks little used but the river is huge and is obviously enjoyed by many as a leisure facility.
We arrived at Mas de Flory in the late afternoon. I was shown my room in the barn, converted by John and Aileen to accommodate their guests. It has been really sympathetically  done with five bedrooms each with a very nice bathroom; shared eating and relaxing space on two levels and a wooden deck overlooking the the fields and forest to the rear, the only sounds are the birds.
I unpacked then went for a stroll around the immediate vicinity. There are lots of tracks and paths to explore, I thought of Andrew and his mountain bike, it would be a brilliant place to mountain bike. I anticipate it being a brilliant place to tour too.
In the evening we went to the local town of Gourdon, they were celebrating their local fete. The town is ancient and centres around a small hill topped by a bastion and of course the church. The views from the top were spectacular, 360 degrees in the evening sunlight, viewed with a audio backdrop of Swifts screeching and swooping low to catch the evening harvest of flying insects. The main street was given over to the amusements, rides, shooting galleries and food stalls that make up this sort of event almost anywhere. The atmosphere was buzzing and we enjoyed a drink in a cafe watching the world go by. To assuage our hunger (not huge after a good lunch) we had brochettes, I chose beef, meltingly tender, very yummy. It was a an excellent evening of rural French entertainment enjoyed at a very acceptable 25 or so degrees. Why have I left it so long to revisit France?

Sunday dawned with the promise of some serious 'chaleur', forecast in the upper 30's. The agenda for the day started with breakfast, followed by a visit to a local market, lunch and sorting out my bike.
I am the only full holiday guest staying at the moment, there is a couple doing B&B, he is French, she is Russian, draw your own conclusions! There is also an Australian family who have just bought a house nearby to renovate and are staying here until their house is habitable. They only spent three weeks in France before selling up in Australia and deciding to come here. I can understand why.
Breakfast was delicious, just what I like, fresh fruit, yoghurt, juice, fresh bread and a choice of home made preserves, fig, raspberry and cherry. This with excellent coffee made a good start to the day. I need to get cycling if this regime is to continue. This afternoon we fit the bike, tomorrow we ride., cannot wait.
Item two on the agenda was the market. We drove for about a quarter of an hour to another small town nearby (cannot remember the name). The market was everything I think a market should be, compact,  not too rambling and filled with sights and smalls to delight the senses. Wonderful local produce, veg, fruit, cheeses, olives, sausages, honey, roast chicken, paella, freshly gathered mushrooms, colourful plants and flowers, jewellery, clothes, books, pottery, kitchen ware, tools, the temptations were huge but I have no space to carry anything more. The expedition was rounded off with a coffee stop in a local cafe, altogether a great outing. Photos to follow.

Disjointed jottings

Fakenham  to Norwich 

The route from Fakenham south east towards Norwich passes through pleasant undulating farmlands until it reaches Reepham where it joins the off road Marriott's Way. This is another old railway track, named after the engineer who built it. It runs for about ten miles and delivers one right into Norwich. The track is not metalled but provided a really smooth and secure cycling surface, an opportunity to up the pace a bit unimpeded by potholes, loose gravel and cars, all of which feature on a daily basis.
I arrived in Norwich in time to find somewhere to stay and to have a look around the centre of the town. I enjoyed the market  place and the old narrow streets surrounding it and was impressed by the Castle towering over the town centre. I didn't hunt down the Cathedral or other historic buildings as my hard pedalling legs did not want to walk any further.
The journey for Wednesday was planned to Beccles,  a small Georgian market town. I managed to loose the route as I left Norwich and rode off piste for a few miles before I found it again. During my ride I encountered one of the Sustrans Rangers, responsible for maintaining the signage on the cycle routes I have been using. He invited me in for tea and biscuits, leant me a map and put a bit of extra air in my tyres, he and his wife were really charming. The route followed the River Yare for most of the way, passing some beautiful riverside homes along the way. As the route turned  away from the river I was faced with one of the steepest hills I have seen in miles, I had to get off and push.
The route changed rivers to the Waveney and I cruised into Beccles via the quay. I was quite peckish so paid a visit to the cafe next to the harbour and had a very nice chicken sandwich whilst sitting in the sun, very pleasant. The next task was to find somewhere to sleep. Tourist info provided a couple of alternatives, there aren't many to choose from in Beccles, and I found a room in a really lovely old Georgian town house right in the town. 
The next destination was Woodbridge and, apart from cycling in a large circle around Halesworth en route and adding a few unnecessary miles, I had a good ride. I found a place to stay in the old converted Railway Station, offloaded my bike and had a walk about. Woodbridge is quaint, it has lots of really old timber framed buildings and narrow streets. It has a large river harbour and an apparently active sailing community. I discovered that the town has a museum devoted to the Suffolk Punch heavy horse, sadly it has limited opening hours and I missed them.
When I set out from York to have a look at the East of England I had planned to cycle to Harwich, on reflection I wondered why, I was not planning a ferry trip and I don't think that Harwich is particularly special in other respects. 
There is a cycle route that goes west from Felixstowe to Newmarket and I decided to pick it up at Ipswich and head for Newmarket.
Stowmarket provided the first stop, quite early as it was raining, much to the locals' joy as the countryside is very dry. Stowmarket is home to the Museum of East Anglian Life and apparently has Suffolk Punch horses. I decided to delay my departure in the morning and have a look at the museum. The museum was good, I got a discount for arriving by bicycle, and for being over sixty! I enjoyed wandering around for about an hour and a half and took lots of photos, some of which I will put on picasa. I was disappointed that the Suffolk Punch I had hoped to see had his head down in a distant paddock and all I really managed to get a view of was a large chestnut rump in the distance. Rather oddly the local funeral director in the High Street had a wonderful display of photos of Suffolks so I took pictures of that! It was much nicer than plastic flowers and a granite headstone.
Having taken in the cultural side of Stowmarket I set off for Bury St Edmunds, not an ambitious goal. A pleasant ride through quiet Suffolk lanes took me via the village of Tostock, a pub was marked on the cycle map and I decided to stop for lunch. I ordered a Ploughman's lunch, wow, it was huge, it comprised fantastic Stilton and Cheddar, pate and wonderful ham with two warm fresh rolls and salad. Just as well I had not planned to go a lot further today, sleeping under a hedge in the afternoon sun seemed like an attractive option but I resisted and pedalled on to Bury.

Bits & pieces add up.

Lincoln to Boston and onward.

I have not written for a couple of days and realise that I hardly know what day it is.
I originally thought that I would not write about this section as it was not particularly interesting,  but on reflexion perhaps the little things would add up to something.
The ride from Lincoln started with a steep descent down the narrow cobbled streets of the old city, a sharp left at the bottom took me along the banks of the River Witham. The route picks up an old railway line that runs on a strip of land between the river and a canal, this is called 'The Water Rail Way'. I think this is rather clever as it combines all the elements of the route, apparently Water Rails are sometimes seen along the waterways. There are some great sculptures along the way, there are photos of some of them on Picasa. An old railway station on the route at Bardney has been turned into a tea room, it has been really well done, old signs, contemporary furniture, old metal advertising signs and excellent tea and scones. They have also got B&B in two converted railway wagons.
As the day progressed the wind increased and the latter part of the day was hard work riding over flat and not very interesting fen land. The most interesting things in the area are the place names, Anton's Gowt, Dogdyke, Fishtoft, a few of the more outlandish ones.  I decided to stop for the day in Boston, the town has little to remark upon except the rather ugly church tower, it can be seen for miles and is known as 'The Stump'. There is a shortage of B&B's here so I checked into the local hotel, a nice contrast to the tatty establishment in Lincoln.
To the south of Boston the flat fens continue and the route crosses Fosdyke Bridge in the north corner of The Wash. On the weather front wind was again the order of the day, I was getting a bit bored with flat landscapes and riding into the wind mile after mile. Wisbech seemed as though it might provide a suitable haven for the night so even though it was only mid afternoon I decided to stop. In days gone by Wisbech was famous for its Horse Fair; the centre of the town, where the fair was once held, has been replaced by a truly awful downmarket shopping centre with a huge picture of a horse on the pavement in its centre, sad, really sad. As I walked through the town it was also apparent that most of the people in the street were Polish, labour for the huge acreages of food crops grown in the area. 
I set off from Marmion House, sounds much grander than it was, towards Kings Lynn. Surprisingly it was windy again, did I really have to pedal so ineffectively all day? I hoped that Kings Lynn would be worth a visit and might even be a place to stop for the day  if the wind persisted. In spite of the wind I made reasonable progress, the route enters Kings Lynn along the banks of the Ouse and delivers one into the centre of this ancient port. There are some beautiful old buildings and I found a nice spot on the quay to have a baguette and a drink. The wind seemed to have abated and I decided to continue on my way.
South of Kings Lynn the terrain changed, small hills, hooray, some relief from the boredom of the last couple of days. I never thought I would be pleased to see a hill.
The cycle route was on quiet country lanes and passed through some very pretty villages. I especially liked Castle Rising. 
The next place on the map was Sandringham, I was quite excited by the prospect of cycling past the Queen's front door. The house can only be glimpsed from the road but the estate is immaculately kept, the verges are mown, the hedges, fences and gates are in perfect order, it all looks really loved and as though it belongs to someone with pots of money.
I was enjoying the more varied countryside but thought I'd better look for a place to stay for the night. I turned down the hill away from the signed route to see if Dersingham could provide. Not only did it provide, it turned up trumps with one of the nicest B&B's I have stayed in. The breakfast was amazing, eggs Benedict!
The day started cool but, dry; this did not last for long. I was rapidly getting cold as well as wet and had stopped in the shelter of a large Chestnut tree in the car park of a pub called 'The Gin Trap', an unusual and possibly unique pub name. It may have been wet, but it was neither flat nor windy and I enjoyed riding through the Norfolk countryside.
The first place of any note was Burnham Market, a very pretty Georgian market town. I was quite peckish and fancied a hot drink so one of the local tea rooms beckoned, a well worth while stop, a nice frothy latte and a big piece of coffee and walnut sponge. Fuelled up I pedalled on to another Burnham. This one is Burnham Thorpe where Horatio Nelson was born in the  parsonage in 1758.
The rain could not tarnish my enjoyment. The countryside looked lovely, lots of wild flowers and pretty cottage gardens, the scents were a bonus too, honeysuckle in the hedgerows and roses in the gardens.
The next part of the route was a totally unexpected bonus, the signs indicated a sharp left through huge cast iron gates, the entrance to Holkham Hall (http://www.holkham.co.uk/). I opened the pedestrian gate, pushed my bike through and stood all alone at the end of the most dramatic drive, it was dead straight and I guess about a mile and a half long rising gently to an obelisk on the crest of a gentle hill. The avenue was lined by what looked like huge trees, they were in fact small groups of trees grown together looking like very large specimen trees. The feeling of cycling alone down this glorious driveway was extraordinary but I was quite unprepared for the sight that met me as I cycled around the obelisk over the crest of the hill; there below was the magnificent Holkam Hall, settled in manicured and landscaped parkland, a lake full of wild fowl, deer and sheep. Do have a look at the website, it shows you the house and parkland on the front page. My ride took me from the way off to the right of this picture on the road that sweeps around in front of the house. I have just looked at Google Earth and the drive and obelisk are clearly visible.
The route carried on through the estate in the dunes behind the beach, this includes large areas of wetland where I saw an Avocet, can it get any better? This bit of the track was quite tricky, bumpy with soft patches of sand, I needed to concentrate hard to stay on my bike.
Lunchtime already,  I stopped at Wells next the Sea for a sandwich. This is a pretty old port, there are still lots of leisure craft here but I suspect that the main income of the town is now tourism.
The rain finally cleared and I pedalled on to Fakenham to find a place to sleep.

My Half Century

From Selby south and across the Humber

Well, the weather forecast was wrong, it turned out to be a glorious day, perfect for cycling; sun, blue skies and and almost no wind. I set off after breakfast with a big smile on my face hoping that my proposed fifty odd miles would be achievable, this was my longest planned ride so far. The geography was on my side, for the most part this bit of England is flat, the latter part of the ride has hills but nothing like I have previously encountered. 
The place I had chosen to spend the night was to the south of Selby and on the wrong side of the river, this meant I had to backtrack a bit to find a bridge. I cycled down Brown Cow Lane passing quite a few morning dog walkers, there seem to be an unusually large number of Greyhounds in this area. I suppose it may be a legacy from the days when coursing was still PC and the Waterloo Cup was run in Lincolnshire.
I easily found the cycle track which was a concrete surfaced farm track beside the River Ouse, the route follows the river deviating from time to time to return to the very quiet road, it passed through some pretty villages on the way, most too small to support a village shop or pub; the houses in the area are red brick, no stone here. The brick is mellow and weather worn, I love it.
Somewhere after about five miles I must have missed a signpost for the cycle route, it was somewhere in a field, I still haven't quite worked out where. The first give away was the self closing stile, I thought it was a bit odd for a cycle route? There is a photo of it  in the picasa album of this stage. To get through it I had to take off the panniers and lift the bike over the bottom ledge. The track appeared to run along the top of a dyke, which would be OK but it was very rough and rutted, and pitted with mole hills, fine if you are on a bare mountain bike, not so fine on a heavily loaded touring bike. On reaching the end of the dyke my thoughts about this being the wrong route were confirmed, another of those silly stiles and a big flight of steps up to the road! I unloaded the bike again and carried it up the stairs. I then consulted the map and returned to the cycle route by the shortest way possible, I don't think it actually cost me much time, I might have missed a pub, but no harm done.
I was by still well on schedule to achieve my fifty or so miles for the day. The ride progressed through the flat arable farmlands of south Yorkshire, acres of oil seed rape, potatoes, beans, beet, flax and grains. I was quite surprised to see lots of big irrigators, hasn't it rained enough? The railway line makes use of these flat lands a adjacent to the river and I cycled across numerous level crossings, they have improved the crossings for cyclists, they are really smooth  and bike friendly. I also crossed a bridge over the busy M62, a reminder of how much nicer it is to be in the back lanes rather than the motorway lanes. One more crossing, a lovely old lock at Weighton, serving the Market Weighton Canal. When it was built I imagine it was in regular use carrying produce from the town to the river and on to the port at Hull, it now looks functional but not as though it is regularly used.
Getting closer to Hull the geography was changing, there were hills appearing, the edge of the Yorkshire Wolds, this would slow me down a bit. One hill in particular did, I took another wrong turn, up a very pretty track through deciduous woodland. It was steep, I carried on to the top, having to get off and push only to reach the top to confirm my fears, wrong way. I enjoyed the ride back down and managed to find the right turning.  Onward towards Hull and the villages appear to be more affluent, big German cars, beautifully manicured gardens, huge houses and glamourously attired ladies of leisure. I guess these are the dormitories for the successful businessmen of Hull.
The Humber Bridge (opened in 1981) in now in sight, it is huge. It is also very high and I have to get up there somehow. The map makes it look as though it should be fairly straightforward. I managed to miss another sign and only rediscoverded my way with the help of a very nice young (they are all young now) policeman on a mountain bike; they are sometimes around when you need them. On arrival at the start of the bridge cycle path there are two alternative routes, which one to choose, no clues, except one appears to have a no cycling sign! I consult a passing cyclist who says they both end up in the same spot on the other side but the way he was going was the less windy, as good a reason as any to follow him. The no cycling sign applied to the road, not the path by the way, silly me.
The remainder of the trip was unremarkable, only about five miles, a bit of a climb with a nice downhill into Barnetby le Wold to find my bed for the night.
I had managed 55 miles in just over six hours, I was pleased with the day but resolved to do a shorter ride tomorrow.

Where have all the hills gone?

New phase, York to Selby

Today I set out on a completely new stage of my trip. Having been a bit unlucky with the weather in Scotland I thought I would go as far away as is possible on this small island, so I'm almost in East Anglia.

I decided that taking a train from Leeds to York would be a good way to get the high density traffic around Leeds out of the way and the National Cycle Network route passes through York and can be picked up close to the station. I used the coffee and muffin combination to fuel up and then put on my waterproofs, umm, it's raining again and set off. I'm hoping that as the week progresses the weather will improve, tomorrow does not look great at the moment.

The cycle path runs along beside the River Ouse in York, it is very pretty, lovely old buildings, lots of river boats, people rowing and to add to the interest the local Hash Harriers running all over the place looking very intense and a bit damp. There were lots of family groups out, seemingly enjoying a walk inspite of the rain and lots of dogs just relishing being out and about.

The next bit of the track ran alongside and then right across York Racecourse, there was no racing today but the track was being made good use of by runners and more dogs. There is something about a racecourse that I find really exciting, I can always picture galloping horses, brightly clad jockeys, hear the thundering hooves and smell the unique horse smell, it gives me goosebumps, silly I know, but I cannot help it.

There was a short and rather uninteresting section of track alongside the busy main road before the route joined an old railway line. This section of the cycleway was apparently bought by Sustrans in 1987 for £1.00, it is great to ride on, the surface is tarred and for the most part well maintained. It is signed every mile and has some interesting seats and shelters along the way. I'm sorry I have no photos, it was just too wet. It goes through mainly arable farm land, all very green at the moment. There are quite a number of small waterways, one was being well used by a chocolate Labrador who was loving the rather muddy water and paying no attention whatever to his slightly irate owner who thought it was time to go home, I wonder if they are still there?

As I pedalled my way along the track I noticed various models of planets and realised that most of the Solar System seemed to be there, along with signs stating distances to various heavenly bodies. I eventually managed to find out what it was, this link explains it http://www.solar.york.ac.uk/. If I pass this way again in sunshine I will have a better look.

I was making quite good time and was in danger of arriving at my B&B destination too early so decided to stop in Selby to find a bite to eat. As I neared the town centre there was a lone male cyclist stopped on the pavement, I asked him if he was local and could recommend somewhere to eat. He apparently used to live in the area but just happened to be there today as part of his training to ride from Lands End to John O 'Groats with some old university friends, celebrating twenty years on from their graduation. As we were about to go our separate ways he glanced down at my bike and commented on the fact that my back tyre was almost flat. What pain, it was raining, the bike was filthy and I really did not feel like fixing a puncture. What to do, I walked down the High Street and found a sort of bike shop that was open even though it was a holiday. The guys in the shop were very nice but I could see that they were less than enthusiastic about fixing my bike. They pumped it up for me and suggested it might just be the valve, I was not convinced. I went off to find some lunch, on returning to my bike the tyre was flat again, so much for the valve theory! I pleaded helplessness and produced a result, if I bought a tube the manager was happy for me to pay one of his tyre bay employees to fix it, job done. I am still slightly unsure of why it went down, I took the old tube and inflated it in their water tank, I found a hole, seemingly in the wall, a pinch maybe, but why now after having ridden quite a long way? I just hope it is still inflated in the morning, if not I will just have to do it myself.

Time was now progressing and I could safely continue to my B&B without being embarrassingly early. The route south of Selby runs for a little way along a canal, I have no clue which one though. I was merrily pedalling along splashing through puddles admiring the beautiful traditional narrow boats when the name of one seemed familiar, 'Phyllis May ll'. Of course it was Terry and Monica Darling's boat. Terry wrote Narrow Dog to Carcassonne, an amusing account of their travels across the Chanel inn their narrow boat with their narrow dog, a Whippet called Jim. He followed this up with Narrow Dog to Indian River and apparently a trip to Wigan Pier is on the horizon. I had to stop, I spent a moment or two having a shouted conversation with the Darlington's then continued on my way.

My ride for today, about twenty five miles was almost over, it may have been wet but it wasn't windy and I really enjoyed it.

The B&B is very nice and they provide supper, which is good as there do not appear to be many alternatives close by.

I have planned a longer day tomorrow, I just hope it is not too ambitious, especially as thunder storms are forecast. Watch this space.

Remote beauty

Journey to Mallaig

Tuesday morning was bright and blustery but the gale blowing for the last twenty four hours had calmed considerably. I left the haven of the hotel hopeful that the ferry would leave Brodick for Ardrossan and the train to Glasgow. I was not disappointed, the ferry left on time with a few words of warning from the Captain that there was a possibility that berthing in Ardrossan could still be a problem. We were delivered safely back to the mainland and I rode my bike off the ferry and onto the rail platform to board the waiting train. The train journey to Glasgow is not very special but I was looking forward to the next stage; I had booked myself and my bike on the legendary West Highland Line from Glasgow to Mallaig via Fort William, this single track journey is arguably the most scenic train ride in the British Isles.

The railway leaves Glasgow along the banks of the Clyde, passing Greenock (Billy Connolly country); Glencoe, site of the massacre of the MacDonald clan in 1692; Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the UK at 1344 metres and still covered in snow in May. A large stretch of the line passes through country that is completely inaccessible by road.

Many of the stops in the remoter areas serve as hostels as well as being railway stations, they are all painted white with green windows and doors and the walls are clad with something that gives the effect of small curved tiles, almost like fish scales. Every stop seemed to have hordes of Goretex clad walkers waiting to board the train to bag their next Munro.

The scenery along the route is beautiful, wild and dramatic. Mountains, lochs, rivers and streams and a lot of wildlife as well as sheep and cattle. It was quite tricky to get many photos from the train for various reasons, rain, dirty windows, trees adjacent to the track blocking the view and on a few occasions the speed of the train. The latter excuse was infrequent and only on the downhill sections, the gradients up and down were quite marked in some places.

The train leaves Glasgow composed of six carriages, two are taken off to divert to Oban, two further carriages get left at Fort William and two carriages then continue from Fort Willaim to Mallaig. I think that the reason only two carriages go to Mallaig is that the gradient is too steep for the train to pull more, it is the only time I can remember really having the sensation of climbing a steep hill in a train. The train terminates at Mallaig, it is a ferry port for Skye and lots of other small islands and a destination for walkers. I unhooked my bike from the rack, attached the panniers and cycled off around to the east side of the harbour to find my B&B.

I had decided to spend three nights in Mallaig so I would be able to have a good look around. I decided that my first excursion would be to take a ferry to Knoydart. Knoydart is a remote peninsular inaccessible by road and the tiny hamlet of Inverie boasts the remotest pub on mainland Britain. It sits on the northern shore of Loch Nevis and has a population of about 100 adults. The ferry drops you off in the morning and returns to collect you at 3:00pm for a short cruise up the Loch and then back to Mallaig. The hamlet has a Post Office, a pub and a small tea room. The weather was wet and cold so I decided that before setting out for a walk I would sample the tea room, hot chocolate and freshly baked carrot cake supplied the necessary calories and thus fortified I set out to explore, nothing radical as I was not equipped to conquer the great outdoors.

I walked east beside the loch, the road was through beautiful deciduous woodland, lots of moss and stones and obviously carefully managed. The Knoydart Foundation exists to preserve the unique character of this largely untouched landscape. Most of the dwellings are traditional cottages, some now holiday let's and some very much lived in. One aspect of local life would appear to have changed, the church is no longer in use as a place of worship but is now a dwelling. The foundation has a bunkhouse situated in an old farmhouse, a popular spot for walkers and others who come to savour this remote spot. I walked on to 'Long Beach' where there is a campsite, in the summer sun it must be idyllic, a grass roofed wooden shelter, a fire pit, running water and some wooden benches and tables surrounded by hills and silence, if you don't count the lazy waves slopping on the shore. The shells and other jetsam on the beach after the gales were colourful and varied, the blue of the many mussels adding a cheerful touch.

The rain was getting heavier and I was getting hungrier so it seemed as though retracing my steps to the pub for some lunch might be a good idea.

The pub 'The Old Forge' was an appealing refuge. Situated on the edge of the Loch with an unimpeded view of the pier the pub seems central to local life. It is obviously patronised by all types, locals, walkers, yachtsmen, holiday cottage residents and anyone else in need of shelter and refreshment. It would appear to offer live music too, guitars and bodhran's lay waiting to be played.

I picked a table with a good view of the Loch and had some really great tomato and basil soup with crusty bread, I followed it up with toffee pudding, working on the theory that if I had a decent lunch then I would not really need to worry about supper, hmmm. Having enjoyed lunch there was not much time to explore more before the ferry returned to collect us. Once aboard the warm dry Ferry we were taken up the loch, the idea being to see the view and possibly some wildlife, the lack visibility rather marred this bit of the trip but it was still nice to have a look around, the scenery is beautiful.

I am writing this hoping that the clouds might lift a bit and I may be able to enjoy a local ride on my bike, time will tell. If the weather does not change I may just go to Mallaig and try out the Heritage Centre, tomorrow it is back on the train to Glasgow and south.

Wild and Windy West

Lochranza

Well, I've got to the west coast of Scotland & how!

I left my B&B in Edinburgh on Saturday morning and cycled into the city to catch a train to Glasgow. It was a nice downhill trafficless ride and I almost wished that I had decided to stay. I took the chance to buy myself a new book at the station bookshop, found my train, loaded my bike into the purpose built bike compartment and settled down to enjoy the trip. Arriving in Glasgow I changed trains for a local service to Ardrossan harbour and the ferry to Brodick on the isle of Arran.

The weather had been slowly deteriorating as I travelled west and by the time the ferry arrived in Brodick it was pouring with rain and quite windy. I had about 14 miles to cycle to the Youth Hostel in Lochranza where I had booked two nights stay. I stopped off at the Coop to buy food for two days in the hostel because there is no shop in Lochranza. I set off along the coast thinking that although it was raining it wasn't too bad, the road was flat and sheltered and I was doing a reasonable speed. That was until I turned away from the coast and up the hill, straight into the teeth of the wind, I could not actually pedal into it it was so strong, it was going to be a long walk! The trudge up the hill seemed interminable, the rain was getting heavier, as was the bike and I'm sure the wind was getting stronger too. The hillsides were awash with torrents of white water, it would have been very pretty on a sunny day but it was somewhat lost on me plodding uphill pushing my bike. As I suppose always happens I eventually reached the top.

The ride down was almost as much fun as the ascent; the hill was quite steep, it was mostly covered by running water which concealed all the gravel and potholes. If you ride a bike you will know that these are both things you would normally try to avoid, the wetness of the conditions and the weight of the bike made the brakes a bit less effective than usual, all contributing to a ride that lots of people would pay good money for in an amusement park. I got it for free. I managed to stay with the bike and we arrived safely at the Youth Hostel. I parked my bike and went into the reception area, the lady on duty looked at me standing there dripping onto her tiled floor and said, "I hope you don't want a bed, I don't have any left." I could have cried, but I had booked. I pointed this out to her, she hurriedly consulted her computer, apologised, and said she did have space, whew, that was a relief.

I found my bed, had a shower, got some food, dried my clothes and my view of life improved. Tomorrow had to be better.

Tomorrow was indeed better. It was a bright and blustery day and I took advantage of the sun to walk around the Loch. I took lots of photos which are uploaded to picasa if you would like to see them https://picasaweb.google.com/josephine.parkes/Lochranza?feat=directlink.

My original plan was to take the ferry north from Lochranza and cycle on towards Tarbert. The weather forecast was bad and the distances quite long so I took a decision to return to Brodick, catch the train to Glasgow and from there take the train to Mallaig. I hope that this will mean I get to see the rain from the train. It means that I can see the Isle of Skye and perhaps do some shorter local rides. The train ride is supposed to be an experience in itself.

I am now writing this, still in Brodick. The weather was too bad for the ferry to sail. I booked myself into a very nice hotel and have enjoyed a day of comfort and warmth with a good Internet signal. I have also eaten too much and spent too much money, but I've really enjoyed it. Let's hope the weather allows the ferry to sail tomorrow.