To borrow an expression normally applied to a game of football, today was a day of “two halves” and no mistake. After a gentle ride out of Keswick the road kicked up and the first part of the day consisted of some strenuous climbing for around ten miles until it transformed into a long but bumpy descent into Carlisle. The upside of the morning was that the scenery was fantastic as we passed eventually cycled out of the Lake District.
Scott’s bike gave up the ghost once again and Julia had to pick him up and deliver him to Mary, who took him to a bike shop in Carlisle where, this time, a new chain was fitted. He joined the group at first lunch, which was held at a small church just outside Carlisle. Julia met up with the same vicar who had blessed us on our way four years earlier, however he had gone before the group arrived. So, no blessing for us this time.
After first lunch Scott and I went on an unintended detour. This came about because an Adam look alike some way in front of us turned right off the main road and I followed him until he disappeared from view. We checked the route and realised we had gone wrong but were able to get back on track fairly easily. However, my error resulted in us putting a few extra miles on the journey for Scott and I, which on a seventy-two-mile ride we could have done without.
As we entered Scotland, the second part of the day turned into a long, boring, gradual climb up to Moffat. For much of it there was a “so called” cycle path, but frankly, in my view, it is safer to ride, for the most part, in the road. The route basically followed the line of a motorway, which was extremely noisy and the scenery dull. It’s a necessary slog which gets you well into Scotland and from tomorrow onwards the views will gradually get more spectacular assuming that is that it doesn’t rain, in which case we won’t see much at all.
We discovered that Ollie was on our trail having caught a train from London to Carlisle, where he picked up his bike from Mary.
Early in the week Julia had been told that her mother, Sheila, who was terminally ill with cancer was not likely to live for more than a few days. Whilst cycling along, around 2.45pm I suddenly became quite emotional thinking about Sheila and ended up praying that she may have a peaceful and pain free passing. When I arrived at second lunch Julia informed me that Shelia died around 3pm. I felt that as a priest I could not give her the last rites but I could be with her, as it were, in spirit. Jung held that the psyche was not bounded by time and space and this moving experience seemed to be one of those occasions when this reality became conscious.
Ollie the, “chiselled whippet”, caught up with us at second lunch. It was good to have the team complete once more.
Prior to second lunch, one of the places we cycled through was a place called Ecclefechan, famed for it tarts (confectionery, rather than women of dubious morals). On a previous trip, attempts were made to buy said tarts but none could be found. When we got home, we discovered that they had all been sent south and Julia found them in Sainsbury’s in Hastings! Ecclefechan reminded me some what of the League of Gentlemen, if you attempted to buy something you would be told, “this is a local shop. There’s nothing for you here!”
After a long day of contrasting countryside, wonderful views and then grinding boredom, we finally arrived in Moffat. We got ensconced in our very comfortable B and B, then after the early evening ritual of showers, protein drinks and plugging my bike in, we went and ate in the narrowest hotel in the world. Lovely food and friendly service. A nice end to strange day.
Ezekiel's Wheels 