Gentleman Cyclist

We left the Anchorlee Guest House shortly before 10 a.m. in bright sunshine. We crossed the river Dee and headed south, the estuary widening to our left. As ever when riding next to Scottish beaches, I kept an eye out for otters but of course there was none. We climbed into Borgue but the pub, which claims to serve tea and cake, isn’t open on a Tuesday, so we didn’t stop there. We carried on along the west side of the peninsula, heading north, and noticed how much stronger the wind had become now that we were against it.

Something called Cream o’ Galloway appeared on the Garmin’s screen and we thought that an establishment thus named ought to sell tea and cake. So it did, but as a working farm selling tickets to the city-dwelling masses so that they can see what a cow looks like and hopefully understand that cows give ice cream, it was crowded with the hoi-polloi.

When we emerged the wind was stronger still and several times we simply ground to a halt. After two miles or so of very hard work, NCN7 left the road and dived through a wood towards the Gatehouse of Fleet, which gave us some very welcome respite from the vicious headwind. Just before we reached the pub for lunch, we were treated to a bout of hail.

We emerged from the pub around 2.30 into rain. Given the remote nature of the next few miles, we invested in a few calories in the form of fig rolls and then continued our northward trudge along NCN7. The countryside was wild and magnificent, even though we were scarcely higher than some of the roads we regularly cycle in Essex, and as we climbed so the rain turned to snow. Mostly we suffered a headwind but, more and more, as we turned towards the west, so we had a cross-wind which would batter the panniers like sails. On one occasion I involuntarily left the road, fortunately at a point where a flat gravel area saved me from something more embarrassing or dangerous.

Eventually we reached the summit and then began a lengthy descent, almost 4 miles of it. Now we were on the north side of the hill, we could see how much the snow was settling above us – a stark contrast to the balmy days this area was enjoying only a week ago. We reached Creetown, which looked pretty scruffy, so we didn’t stop, but joined what would once have been the A75, a wide frost-pocked road carrying little traffic but what there was was too fast. Shortly we found our way onto the disused railway which serves as NCN 7.

For the first time, I began to feel cold, which was quite remarkable considering how long we’d been cycling in heavy snow. My fingers were becoming painful with cold, but the rest of me was warm and dry, a fact that I put down to the excellence of the Paramo jacket.

Eventually, at around 6 p.m., we arrived at the B & B, 36 or so miles covered in about 5 hours’ cycling. After a quick cup of tea we found the nearest eatery and ate.

Posted on 3 April 2012

At breakfast, which involved a fair bit of meat for me, although Jan restricted herself to scrambled eggs and toast, there was a German in a kilt. I was fascinated by this idea and wondered about the possibilities of mixed national dress. Lederhosen with sporran and bagpipes? Grass skirt with a stripy smock and a string of onions? Clogs, assegai and not much else?

We bade farewell to Robertson & Emma and, as we were loading the bikes, we noticed a blue signpost indicating a cycle route. It was NCN 7, was pointing towards Castle Douglas, which was where we wanted to go, so we set off. I didn’t recall seeing a cycle route on our OS map but we decided to give it a try.

It was magnificent. Built on the course of an old railway, the Maxwelltown Path was opened in 2006. It takes the discerning cyclist out of Dumfries along perfectly traffic-free routes. It’s flat, wide and smooth and leads directly to the minor road that we were heading for. Better still, it crosses the river Nith at a point where low sandy cliffs mark the river bank and there were sand martins flying around. I couldn’t tell at first that they were not swallows, but I trained my binoculars on them and I could see them making for holes in the sandy cliff.

The morning was fraught with faffage. This was the first day’s laden  touring Jan had done on her new solo machine, and every so often we would stop to tweak the panniers because her heel was catching, or to allow her to catch her breath after a bit of a hill. There was nothing especially steep all day but we had to do something to pass the time as our ride was only meant to be about 30 miles.

The scenery was wonderful: nothing like the grand stature of the Highlands, but gently rolling, an occasional top just exceeding 1000 feet and the road climbing up to about 500 feet but not much more. There was a fair bit of interesting wildlife: buzzards, lots of chiffchaffs and a few oystercatchers although what these shore-dwellers were doing so far inland I’ve no idea.

We had a light shower during the morning which persuaded me to put on my new Paramo jacket, but I soon became too warm and had to remove one of my other layers. The rain didn’t last long but what there was seemed to roll off the fabric and I remained warm but not too sweaty. Mind you, we were not exactly putting in a great deal of effort.

There were no tea rooms to stop at and we hadn’t taken any sustenance with us (we had intended to buy something in Dumfries, but our route along the cycle path took us away from the shops) so we only needed to stop to swig from the water bottle. We stopped for one such break in the open gateway to a field and hadn’t been there long when a tractor pulling a spreader full of muck appeared. I moved my bike and the the tractor entered and started spreading its steaming load over the grass. I was surprised at how quickly the spreader was emptied and when the tractor left again the trailer was with inches of running over my back wheel. A narrow escape.

At about 1.30 we arrived in Castle Douglas, some 18 miles from Dumfries, which had taken us almost three hours to cycle. I had thought that solo touring might speed us up a bit, but so far, no. We found a cafe and enjoyed a pleasant lunch washed down with plenty of tea and then dropped into the Co-op for a bottle of water for Jan, some cake for later, and jelly babies which, as luck would have it, were on a 2 for the price of 1 offer.

The sun put in an appearance during the afternoon, which was a pleasant bonus over the forecast weather. There was gorse in flower, and that always looks much better in sunlight. Just south of Castle Douglas there is the Carlingwark Loch, which was very attractive.

The descent into Kirkcudbright is fairly steep, and beset with pot-holes and hair-pin bends. Once in the main street we quickly found the Anchorlee guest house and settled in. For our evening meal we adjourned to the Selkirk Arms where, it is alleged, Mr. Burns wrote his famous Selkirk Grace,

Some hae meat and canna eat,
and some wad eat that want it,
but we hae meat and we can eat,
and sae the Lord be thankit.

Just to be awkward, we each had fish, and my turbot fillet on a prawn and noodle broth was absolutely superb.

Posted on 1 April 2012

5.15 a.m. is far too early to get out of bed. It’s even worse when, for the last 90 minutes or so of scheduled sleeping time, one is wide awake. However, that was my fate this morning.

As ever, we scrabbled around at the last minute and I couldn’t find my Tilley hat and Jan left her water bottle on the kitchen table, but we were on the platform at Southend Central with about 5 minutes to spare for the 6.44 train. Watching the perfect dawn bathe the fishing-boat-bobbing sea in horizontal light was ample reward for our lack of sleep.

Crossing London was uneventful, our train was announced about 5 minutes before it was due to leave, we got away to time and arrived promptly in Carlisle some 4 hours and 6 minutes after we set off from Euston. I was a bit concerned when an irreponsibiilty of BMX riders arrived at the bike carriage before us, but the guard was sensible and we all got on. Jan’s bike lost its dangly bike space cherry, which, by the nature of these things was over very quickly and we were in Dumfries, having forgotten precisely how close to the station the Ferintosh guest House was. We made tea, ourselves at home and up for lost time and were soon on the way to see Jan’s cousin, whose lovely house, set in several acres of land, is only a couple of miles from Dumfries. We had tea and cake followed by beer and crisps and then lasagne and salad washed down with a good red wine, the conversation flowed along with the wine and liqueur chocolates and it was after dark that we set off for the guest house again. I finished off the Glen Moray whisky and then prepared for sleep.