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Arthur declared that today was our rest day, so I was excited about the prospect of feeling on top of the world by the end of the day. After a breakfast of cereal and toast (with local butter and jams) provided by the hostel, we set off back through Shap to head up the hill to Crosby Ravensworth, which we did after calling Arthur back to the turning he had missed. At Crosby Ravensworth we looked around a graveyard, wandering through long wet grass, while Calum minded our bikes. 

Found a gravestone belonging to a 22-year-old cyclist who had died nearby many years ago, thereby completing another BCQ. 

We cycled on along quiet roads with a high ratio of uphill roads, passing through lots of villages and crossing a surprising number of railway lines (at least, in my mind we did). We eventually stopped in a small place called Lazonby where we sat under the shelter outside the co-op to eat lunch; a steam train went by to entertain us. 

After eating, we continued on through more villages, and over more railway lines, before heading up a steep hill to Cotehill, crossing the M6, and joining the A6 which took us straight into the centre of Carlisle. 

Carlisle was badly signposted and as we pulled off into a car park to check the map, the heavens opened for possibly the fullest wet rain yet experienced. A mile later, we were at Carlisle YHA absolutely soaked through to the skin. It was 3pm and wasn’t meant to rain until 4pm according to the weather experts. Bert and I sheltered under, erm… a shelter, whilst Calum and Arthur went to the student accommodation reception to check us in; Calum banged his head on a hanging basket en-route. 

Inside our block, we all chose our single rooms, discovered there was nobody else staying there and pumped up the heating so we could dry our clothes on the radiators. We supped tea in the mouldy kitchen, possibly our first pre-shower tea break since Zennor, before the boys showered and I had a long hot bath. As soon as I was clean and dry and feeling toasty in my evening clothes, Bert declared I should join him to do a food shop at Tesco. There had been a temporary pause in the rain, so we only had puddles to traverse on the way there. On our return journey, the full wet returned with a vengeance and we got back to our digs soaked through to the skin for the second time that  afternoon. Really soaked. My trousers were dripping and stuck to me. I was not impressed. Got changed again, found more radiator space for my next lot of clothes, and then stuck a delicious ready meal in the oven and opened wine. There was no way I was going to exit the building again this evening! After dinner we played the Alphabet Game before heading off to sleep. 

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Left by half past eight after having scrambled egg on toast for breakfast. We headed north, roughly following the M6, and it didn’t take long to reach Gretna, where we stopped for a “Welcome to Scotland” photo shoot. The sun was out, and we were all elated to have reached such a landmark. My thinking of the last two weeks changed in an instant, from ‘there’s no way I’m going to make this’, to ‘please don’t fall and break an arm or a leg, I can’t stop now!’ We continued along the B7076, taking it in turns to take the lead along the pleasant tarmac surface and stopping in Ecclefechan to use the public toilets. Arthur taunted us with hopes of a whole bistro dedicated to cakes, which he thought was funny. We carried on, and I was bemused to see a cyclist who had been coming in the other direction cross the road and start talking to Arthur and Calum. This was a lot friendlier than the half nod, half wave that usually took place. As we pulled up, we discovered that the cyclist was in fact, Andy Summers, the guy who had hoped to do the whole trip with us. 

It was lovely to meet him, and I quickly subdued my ‘demonstrating lack of cycling skills in front of new person’ panic to enjoy the long, straight roads that now traversed the A74(M). There was a bit of headwind in places, so I kept tucked in for as much as I could, and we arrived in Lockerbie in time for lunch. The charity café that Arthur had been raving about for the last day or two was closed, so we found a pleasant little café on the high street, where Andy was briefly introduced to our ‘phones out, stare into space’ habit before we quickly realised we had company and actually made conversation. 

After buying cakes and potato cakes in a cake shop, we continued at high speed alongside the A74(M), before Andy turned back at Johnstonebridge. The boys were really pleased to have seen him, and we carried on feeling bolstered by the meeting. 

At Beattock we made a sharp left to head into the village for food shopping, but alas, several cottages and a tiny closed post office were all we could find. We continued, still along the B7074, now heading uphill quite drastically and dressed in our waterproofs because of the incessant rain. We passed by a couple of entrances to a massive wind farm, and eventually pulled off the (what was now) A702 to cycle through Crawford in the hope of finding food. Looking off to a clump of trees in the distant hills, we could see the initials of a young soldier – his dad had planted the trees so that his son could find his way home from war, but he never did. The Post Office in Crawford was still open, so we bought carrots, potatoes, rice, tinned mushrooms and cheese out of its limited stock. Dinner would be interesting. We continued to climb and the weather got colder and stayed wet, making it all quite hard work, but the scenery was fantastic. We eventually stopped following the M74 to turn northeast up Happendon Road, and as the road became a lane, the rain stopped and the midges came out. Toilet stops were hurried, and the stony narrow lane dropped down to what looked like the entrance to a power station. Going through the gate, we walked along a stony track until we came to a bridge over the Clyde, and here we stopped for a few minutes to watch the water filter machine do its stuff. The Clyde looked big and impressive and we crossed the bridge to enter the beautiful “Falls of Clyde”. 

The Falls of Clyde is a typical nature reserve, with narrow winding muddy paths traversing up and down hills along the edge of the Clyde and passing several viewpoints along the way, one of which looked up to a waterfall which Calum thought was orange… until he took his shades off. Small sections of the path were boarded, and the steepest sections had steps. Once again I struggled with the non-cycling aspect of the route, lugging my bike down steps and trying not to fall over as Bert waited at the bottom taking photos.

My temporary bad mood vanished when we arrived at New Lanark, a beautiful old mill town built along the Clyde years ago by a philanthropist who wanted to give people work with fair pay and improved lives. The buildings were spectacular, and our hostel was located in one of the buildings and absolutely beautiful. Whilst chatting to the man at the hostel, he discovered we were doing LEJOG for charity and gave us complimentary towels – what a luxury! Despite having made good time during the day, the walk through the Falls of Clyde at the end had notched up an extra hour or so, and we didn’t eat dinner until 9:30pm, which was surprisingly nice considering the bizarre ingredients! The Dutch couple were also there, though they were heading to Edinburgh the next day whilst we were heading slightly northwest to get to Glasgow. We were very tired as we headed off to bed so late that evening. 

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We got up fairly early and cycled up the hill to Lanark, to meet Bob Yorke, one of Arthur and Calum’s work colleagues. I forgot to start Strava until after meeting Bob, so the 37 miles and 977 feet elevation of today isn’t quite accurate. It was an easy day, and we even chose to stay on the A road for a more direct route to Glasgow, a location we were all very eager to get to! We soon joined the Clyde again and cycled along it to Glasgow Green, but it was closed for a Wet Wet Wet concert so we had to go around the edge. As we got towards the BBC building, we saw a group of people hovering with cameras, and discovered Arthur and Calum had a surprise welcome party waiting to meet them. After a celebrity paparazzi style greeting, we stopped and chatted for a short while; Bob said his goodbyes; and we continued through the town centre before saying goodbye to Calum, who was heading home to see Lynne for the night. I felt sad saying goodbye, and chided myself that it was only one night; I wondered what I would feel like in a week’s time when we would all be saying goodbye for a year or more. 

Arthur took us to a bike shop where we got oil and brake pads, and the pleasant man in the shop gave me a couple of bananas to keep me going. I was surprised to realise I’d had no fruit for the last two weeks, and hadn’t even thought of buying things like bananas to have as snacks rather than the usual chocolate and cake combo. We got to Milngavie at about 1pm, and it was just lovely to be in Arthur and Anne’s home, eating lunch prepared by Anne and drinking buckets of tea in a genuine relaxed home environment. We’d had a good day – low mileage and no rain – things were starting to look up. After eating, I ran myself a bath while the boys cleaned up the bikes, and I luxuriated in bubbles for an hour or so while I slowly began to feel human again. Bliss. 

Anne and Hannah had also made a lovely dinner for us, and as soon as Trevor arrived, we began to eat. Shortly after, Alan also arrived, and we sat and chatted about the first part of the trip whilst I tried not to panic about the next day’s cycling with new people. I was now perfectly content with Arthur and Calum waiting for me and seeing me walk up the occasional hill, but I didn’t want to show myself up in front of Trevor, who I’d met briefly the year before, and Alan, who I’d never met until now. They seemed nice enough though, and I resolved that I would just have to do my best. Bert went to bed first, and I followed shortly afterwards.