After being awarded rosettes at the B&B, we went on to have a fun night in the Wick Wetherspoons on our final evening – spirits were high, the Olympic opening ceremony was on the flat screen tv, and we were amused to be able to compare stripy sun tans where our fingerless gloves had lived for the last three weeks. It was a bittersweet time, having grown so close through the trials and mud trails of the UK, sharing the hills, the rivers, the sharp descents, the full wet, and the long, long hours of being in the saddle. Yet here we were at the end; sharing a beer and a meal for the last time. All I wanted to do was turn around and do the return journey… on my bike. With my new cycling buddies.
Instead, David and I set off the next morning by coach to Inverness, whizzing past towns, villages, and cliff views that we had sauntered through by pedal not much earlier. As we watched roads we had cycled along, we could almost feel the stones, bumps, potholes; sense the smells; remember the views that lay in wait just around the corner; and oh we so wanted to be back there – in the middle of the view rather than looking down on it through a coach window. At Inverness we joined Calum again, to share a train journey to Glasgow, and again, whilst re-living the memories, we caught glimpses of tracks we’d cycled along, hills we’d conquered, and views we’d lived and breathed, and I realised once again how blessed I am to be living in such a beautiful land in such privileged circumstances.
We had our final night without the trustworthy, gentle Calum; but having met with Mrs Valentine and enjoying some bubbles with the lovely couple, we had said our goodbyes and were able to enjoy an excessively hot evening of curry and laughs with the Moodys and Alan, before tumbling into our guest bedroom at the Moody household.
The following day, the boys pointed me in the right direction one last time, and we took a train to Manchester, cycled to Woodley, had more bubbles with the parents, and then got a lift down to Bristol in their car, leaving our bikes to be collected later. Whilst travelling, I pondered our journey… contrary to popular opinion, as we had travelled further north through the UK, the sun got brighter, the rain diminished, the hills got ever easier and the scenery got distinctively more thrilling and beautiful with every mile.
Of course, we had good intentions to retrieve the bikes as soon as possible so we could maintain our fitness levels and enjoy wholesome and hearty days out in the country, as well as our plans of cycling to work each day. Our good intentions remain good intentions, but the memory lives on and we still dream of the day when we rely on our bicycles more than our cars. I guess the challenge of cycling to work isn’t half as exciting as the challenge of cycling the length of the UK.
So. Who’s up for Africa?...
Mt Everest – 29,000 ft.