tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84980393313983870682024-03-05T20:13:51.919-08:00The Green SaddleJim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-27853850165268059422019-08-12T02:55:00.000-07:002019-08-12T03:02:16.399-07:00End to End: Two Everests<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 30 (Thurso to John o' Groats then to Wick)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 10.5 mph </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 37.2 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 1,347.3 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 1,430.4 ; 63,897.1 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Easy</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP_gvhtcDesV7n9IC7AEyt0cVV87vfdrT-yP3nUaTPz1pxY0nmgojSM2Cn-dNGUhavt6rYWf94o3zrq09tXhimpS70L4Cl1Q2vSQb8vDlPZcA5hmgM2chQwrKS3qWMkh27APXcICZQt0w/s1600/IMG_1613.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP_gvhtcDesV7n9IC7AEyt0cVV87vfdrT-yP3nUaTPz1pxY0nmgojSM2Cn-dNGUhavt6rYWf94o3zrq09tXhimpS70L4Cl1Q2vSQb8vDlPZcA5hmgM2chQwrKS3qWMkh27APXcICZQt0w/s400/IMG_1613.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The John o' Groats sign post... much more graffitied than the protected one at Lands End!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There's no real joy in finishing these rides, which seems counterintuitive. At the beginning, it's easy to imagine some dramatic finish and an elaborate victory dance, but that's not how it goes. I hate to use the word "sad" as a descriptor, but it's much closer to that. I never want them to end, and if I had the time, I'd pedal right back to Land's End. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUHmO4qAjJ8gXQDcBY5E-RDUGGSAX4o_iXTXvgOKUy7oLASL4CkGypB-YNbhwl_SRfQ17aYtUmprP9tJxwvS6MOQce_VW1e5kpqBtRIZRHBskzH1T7M2wXPoyyds5yCrUWuv-FfsClsk/s1600/IMG_1611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUHmO4qAjJ8gXQDcBY5E-RDUGGSAX4o_iXTXvgOKUy7oLASL4CkGypB-YNbhwl_SRfQ17aYtUmprP9tJxwvS6MOQce_VW1e5kpqBtRIZRHBskzH1T7M2wXPoyyds5yCrUWuv-FfsClsk/s200/IMG_1611.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BLUE SKIES AHEAD!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With only 20 easy miles to pedal from Thurso, I set off into another gray day, slowly pedaling my way towards the</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> famous sign post at the northern tip of Scotland. And it stayed gray... for the first half of the leg. But then, in almost storybook fashion, a beautiful patch of blue appeared, and I was heading right for it. Gray to the back. Gray to the left. Gray to the right. But blue in front. And for the first time since somewhere in England, I was fumbling around in my front bag for my sunglasses. The coat came off. And I had all but forgotten about the hellish weather from the day prior. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The sky was patient and polite enough to wait for me. It didn't ask me to pedal faster. And <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQE8iWXI2AG1giPaEfka64OTtWDl1bk_OtFel3HENFEP0jpg-JkI4wCI7G9P-2VKQLa5Ekk-0JmzBatnt5I1xt2d-5__ZY2JBYl3v_aIPsYxQE_xjahEdmdh3es6EmpbgV32bWbLCwng/s1600/IMG_1616.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQE8iWXI2AG1giPaEfka64OTtWDl1bk_OtFel3HENFEP0jpg-JkI4wCI7G9P-2VKQLa5Ekk-0JmzBatnt5I1xt2d-5__ZY2JBYl3v_aIPsYxQE_xjahEdmdh3es6EmpbgV32bWbLCwng/s320/IMG_1616.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mandatory Pic</td></tr>
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when I shimmied my way through the literal boatload of tourists to get the mandatory picture, it felt exactly like the day that I started. Two Everests ago. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There's this thing called "<a href="https://everesting.cc/">Everesting</a>," where cyclists repeatedly tackle a hill in a single day until they've climbed the equivalent of the height of Mt. Everest. Not too many have been able to do it, and it's not something I am eager to ever attempt. Besides, I think it's a rather ridiculous goal. Comparing anything grand to Everest is like comparing anything evil to Hitler. It's a cliché. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">John Oliver has a hilarious (and fascinating) take on Everest. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend. (I would embed the official HBO clip, but the bootleg will have to suffice since John Oliver is not made available in the UK)</span><br />
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/CW1C6w40IPs?start=429" width="560"></iframe>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Still, regardless of how trite it is, it's fun to say. Two Everests. Don't take that away from me,<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4OUP4HLiaZAua_cQq7ZE1fe_v-X3-DC4q1uJ7mDOaj0y62lro-v_KrDrXjTqPmENIueJHpxLh2oQQ4gHZGTT8Vfmw9kVSyE-AaE8qwWuCzBuTfE77rKrkfyNYfQU9qtzkesPfrI25QtA/s1600/IMG_1617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4OUP4HLiaZAua_cQq7ZE1fe_v-X3-DC4q1uJ7mDOaj0y62lro-v_KrDrXjTqPmENIueJHpxLh2oQQ4gHZGTT8Vfmw9kVSyE-AaE8qwWuCzBuTfE77rKrkfyNYfQU9qtzkesPfrI25QtA/s320/IMG_1617.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bike at the tip of Scotland</td></tr>
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John Oliver. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And no, I certainly didn't break any records. A 55-year old woman <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-49212792">just set the running record </a>of 12 days (!) for the direct route. People have <a href="https://www.cyclinguk.org/article/one-wheeled-ride-lands-end-john-o-groats">unicycled</a> it. <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/uk-england-derbyshire-47467438/penny-farthing-teacher-s-1000-mile-challenge">This guy</a> just did it on a Penny-farthing. There are all sorts of ways some try to get their names into record books. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfeqG-zZJg_Af84-YVLl3Qux-hmGuSkO5yHbsFdqrgaE0beGRwjkgigNqXvYekmyDLHVYSg1a2fcSgoLmuOLrzDRqyM2HJA7lZT52NKQ7JZCfErtoJhRV1FeolwBvsb_dr4Jifj7cnUo/s1600/IMG_1627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfeqG-zZJg_Af84-YVLl3Qux-hmGuSkO5yHbsFdqrgaE0beGRwjkgigNqXvYekmyDLHVYSg1a2fcSgoLmuOLrzDRqyM2HJA7lZT52NKQ7JZCfErtoJhRV1FeolwBvsb_dr4Jifj7cnUo/s320/IMG_1627.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY:<br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">GEORGE PAPP!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">CHEERS, MATE.<br />CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=a9fmSJiKifEJ1mNP4UC3cw70dLtgS_Y3Fse4vVxc8jY2KCwT_uUtlQ0SySIe7D3p0EVFIm&country.x=US&locale.x=US">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm happy to say that I am, without a doubt, the only person from Westtown, New York to complete the route and finish on a Saturday while seated on a Brooks B17 green saddle. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That's good enough for me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thank you for coming along. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And thank you for your support.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> Especially the beers. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghW3yvsPhYEkPccjhrFhNrXfyPzFaC9GuTgFXktF4ppTM1Ky-fMjVzENuy774Cl3_KczcDXCSUaHMN7__TA6mquAdw2FFsYveZ4z34yINWISJ71lIUD34tFSJHh7mojkjoB7ff0lBnxkA/s1600/IMG_1524.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghW3yvsPhYEkPccjhrFhNrXfyPzFaC9GuTgFXktF4ppTM1Ky-fMjVzENuy774Cl3_KczcDXCSUaHMN7__TA6mquAdw2FFsYveZ4z34yINWISJ71lIUD34tFSJHh7mojkjoB7ff0lBnxkA/s200/IMG_1524.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">KRISTIN RISEDORPH!<br />MARY GREEN!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6mMXEUt0QlTIykuqhKbt0Qp_n77E5rehLUD8t80EBDH-Lwx63nLPtHsy9JUsMH3mcBXOWCNiCkd4Erexd2pnw5e_BsylVKKz63IbgGRnnpMhy8bjDUkmPa5hUqwfFJHXsAjgWEy9Njbg/s1600/IMG_1586.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6mMXEUt0QlTIykuqhKbt0Qp_n77E5rehLUD8t80EBDH-Lwx63nLPtHsy9JUsMH3mcBXOWCNiCkd4Erexd2pnw5e_BsylVKKz63IbgGRnnpMhy8bjDUkmPa5hUqwfFJHXsAjgWEy9Njbg/s200/IMG_1586.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">DEBBIE RICHTER!<br />JENNIFER BENNETT!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnCGChHvJF8rv1hvLP0uHi_vq9zu59Bo60D-nAirFVfz2CUtPEoyNbuI2vVrSe4AFYNkMqNhH7J1jIuR9N6G179AlZisSFllwQfX2k_5T2ANg2zjbDvjyFkulkK7Dknb_UTpCEAgNnBRw/s1600/IMG_1625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnCGChHvJF8rv1hvLP0uHi_vq9zu59Bo60D-nAirFVfz2CUtPEoyNbuI2vVrSe4AFYNkMqNhH7J1jIuR9N6G179AlZisSFllwQfX2k_5T2ANg2zjbDvjyFkulkK7Dknb_UTpCEAgNnBRw/s200/IMG_1625.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">LAURIE ARIAS!<br />DENNIS QUINLAN!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivv9efIF6G-R-RlujF50Sb3RlQGDOpdrUEC5OOdy3WPz0mnxKtBWIU2-8kcs2hMGA8-RXwcMQStxocdi6K6wXNeX13Bh9U44nsl8ETuYAPEojgDtnFZxMAG0Z60ZSysv1N7yXgts98HqM/s1600/IMG_1629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivv9efIF6G-R-RlujF50Sb3RlQGDOpdrUEC5OOdy3WPz0mnxKtBWIU2-8kcs2hMGA8-RXwcMQStxocdi6K6wXNeX13Bh9U44nsl8ETuYAPEojgDtnFZxMAG0Z60ZSysv1N7yXgts98HqM/s200/IMG_1629.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">JIM PEREDO!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj83jgRgdZfuP_ZWuvhl6Makh1mSpRC_kYZhSzhWZ7w7yCDIR5lCUhYh2l5ammcMTPJwXhAIMS_tf6qKGwpCyLRMQyMR35Kk84BA4L3vrSRhpFeCObXfNU7BGXqyWNUPEoeHou9V-fqVE/s1600/IMG_1628.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj83jgRgdZfuP_ZWuvhl6Makh1mSpRC_kYZhSzhWZ7w7yCDIR5lCUhYh2l5ammcMTPJwXhAIMS_tf6qKGwpCyLRMQyMR35Kk84BA4L3vrSRhpFeCObXfNU7BGXqyWNUPEoeHou9V-fqVE/s200/IMG_1628.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">ELAINE GRECO!<br />AMANDA PETRICONE!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHV6kbhzWU2BF4SgVngybNGg3MtmzY_7TrXrOWEhMcyhOWwWfxfr9OgC1dxFZwgq_QzK1BUrBpPnSfIJf7VmRpXD2hDZvBA6E-67JUoO567fBBM4CQN-cwzNWiDUfiClsYLQlf-yEt4N8/s1600/IMG_1602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHV6kbhzWU2BF4SgVngybNGg3MtmzY_7TrXrOWEhMcyhOWwWfxfr9OgC1dxFZwgq_QzK1BUrBpPnSfIJf7VmRpXD2hDZvBA6E-67JUoO567fBBM4CQN-cwzNWiDUfiClsYLQlf-yEt4N8/s200/IMG_1602.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">FAYE PRENDERGAST!<br />ANNALISA VAN DEN BERGH!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnK8itC17jLAddMd6speC-ifXwYcUYR1iWOEUz8AujdJ8eSvb9C3uxpRtqL8R4Rn2Gz5zhi9ZUr1IKTyC0IpqBKAkWbHhbxFjuU-ToMicmzd_ysSjgka-D6RONrBStx4PLBdMfWWK9cUY/s1600/IMG_1600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnK8itC17jLAddMd6speC-ifXwYcUYR1iWOEUz8AujdJ8eSvb9C3uxpRtqL8R4Rn2Gz5zhi9ZUr1IKTyC0IpqBKAkWbHhbxFjuU-ToMicmzd_ysSjgka-D6RONrBStx4PLBdMfWWK9cUY/s200/IMG_1600.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">KRISTIN RAUCCI!<br />ADDIE CAVANAGH!<br /></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwK4Sg1rn0sk0RrA5wmLtDuXLeoyKu9WawEY77WNpZlq48Q50odb7b6e1aA7mGsxh3GPyGTcI04ypoghiYcQmZtXr1fUWLCUg6yquLNYU6_4eIQhuetJ39wO6N_rzZJCscT1ZUPFn54p4/s1600/IMG_1589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwK4Sg1rn0sk0RrA5wmLtDuXLeoyKu9WawEY77WNpZlq48Q50odb7b6e1aA7mGsxh3GPyGTcI04ypoghiYcQmZtXr1fUWLCUg6yquLNYU6_4eIQhuetJ39wO6N_rzZJCscT1ZUPFn54p4/s200/IMG_1589.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">JON REDEKER!<br />SUE WHEELER!<br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">P.S. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>On every trip, I inevitably see a sign that says "Thank You" for no particular reason. </i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>I love it.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQsv8ITs0wqfb9TwPGKT6dtyERbj3tyqGfgWnjFJc5bu0Ad3myBEMc5eARdxtJwoTrAwUC4zYn7WIM9cDqqh2mcYOa41jq1VAx7LilVXFW2JjjCqXRW7FVc9g1GW906LNcnolpnjMiNK0/s1600/IMG_1460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQsv8ITs0wqfb9TwPGKT6dtyERbj3tyqGfgWnjFJc5bu0Ad3myBEMc5eARdxtJwoTrAwUC4zYn7WIM9cDqqh2mcYOa41jq1VAx7LilVXFW2JjjCqXRW7FVc9g1GW906LNcnolpnjMiNK0/s400/IMG_1460.jpg" width="400" /></a></i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-58075216759030086222019-08-10T03:09:00.001-07:002019-08-10T04:43:00.098-07:00Ignoring the Warnings<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 29 (Tongue to Thurso)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 8 mph </span><br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 46.2 miles </span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 1,310.1 miles </span></h2>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 3,599.1 ; 62,466.7 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Extremely Challenging</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0MIsKGBt_3EzLc3yiApjMjMcT4Xg4skQ81w98bZTfEJrTXh0MahKBzYSwx8Pv3-ekAGMdxUM0q9WuNpFGBRJzNJFZ28LD96-CZKeMK9iV2EjrOm0kb3sRlURxE1uxbmPdbz3IFRjdrI/s1600/IMG_1592.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0MIsKGBt_3EzLc3yiApjMjMcT4Xg4skQ81w98bZTfEJrTXh0MahKBzYSwx8Pv3-ekAGMdxUM0q9WuNpFGBRJzNJFZ28LD96-CZKeMK9iV2EjrOm0kb3sRlURxE1uxbmPdbz3IFRjdrI/s400/IMG_1592.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bike planter outside of Kyle of Tongue Hostel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm tempted to leave this post blank.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can hear my grade school teachers saying <i>"If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all!"</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That was a terrible, terrible ride. I enjoyed zero percent of it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Actually, that's a lie. I had a chicken caesar salad for lunch. I enjoyed that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And occasionally I would shift in my saddle, causing the warm butt water caught between my chamois and my midsection to run down my legs. I enjoyed that too. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Everything else? Awful. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgynHJjJcnEvzBcrFg2XgXoD8WTq9tyj2yV5HQhe7U3HJOOLt_HT5hk6natFaFTZMc7gO2nhjxQLvpPGXiU0AH-QqHsOISWeQx0QGjAB3Mivw8kI67JzdHhodq4FhyphenhyphensszOblRIC5BkvBd4/s1600/IMG_1609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgynHJjJcnEvzBcrFg2XgXoD8WTq9tyj2yV5HQhe7U3HJOOLt_HT5hk6natFaFTZMc7gO2nhjxQLvpPGXiU0AH-QqHsOISWeQx0QGjAB3Mivw8kI67JzdHhodq4FhyphenhyphensszOblRIC5BkvBd4/s320/IMG_1609.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's painful elevation profile</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was about to head out on my penultimate day when two other cyclists were entering the hostel I'd stayed at. They were calling it quits, and they were shaken. "You don't want to go out there," one warned. His tone was devoid of humor, and there were no pleasantries exchanged. Both were immediately on the phone with their wives, calling a cease and desist on camp setup and redirecting them to their new location. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They were right. I didn't want to go out there. But the hostel I'd booked in Thurso had a 10% cancellation fee. I'll be damned if they were going to steal £2 from me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So I sucked it up, and pedaled away. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The already challenging terrain was made exponentially more difficult by the 40 mph <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizv02vivn8H2XMMBQ7Am3_BMQ05W6nn7AEGur5De2pFq0zk593eeJ7Tdw5HIPddILYug0CI3DuMswknJBV8Cash5bnG4_TXue6wv2JoOhr8zw6iSTccRiERRysiE0FwM2DN8YIAa1By50/s1600/IMG_1593.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizv02vivn8H2XMMBQ7Am3_BMQ05W6nn7AEGur5De2pFq0zk593eeJ7Tdw5HIPddILYug0CI3DuMswknJBV8Cash5bnG4_TXue6wv2JoOhr8zw6iSTccRiERRysiE0FwM2DN8YIAa1By50/s320/IMG_1593.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First sign I've seen directing people to John o' Groats</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
headwinds and the stinging horizontal rain. Seconds felt like minutes. Minutes felt like hours. From the first pedal, I wanted the day to be over. It felt like I was cycling into a hurricane, and it never let up for a moment. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The wind was screaming in my ears, drowning out the sounds of cars approaching from the rear so that each one that passed me on the single-track road was a jarring surprise. "THE DAY BELONGS TO ME!" the wind yelled. "GO HOME! YOU DON'T BELONG HERE!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My only response was to occasionally blurt out nonsense syllables. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"BLARGH!" "YECHH!" "SCHMOO!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don't know why. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUdCO-_-EHGP_nBO6S8UszpvMccR8YVV5rNPAkihXfvtMrSxX8GjbJhRPeq-jhqJBpAQVlgl866o2XQnU6FKUANtABzr6YXFXP8o1s4ZgiKsiC0h214EgB361rXFdj60d51bsh9g7uW4/s1600/IMG_1595.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTUdCO-_-EHGP_nBO6S8UszpvMccR8YVV5rNPAkihXfvtMrSxX8GjbJhRPeq-jhqJBpAQVlgl866o2XQnU6FKUANtABzr6YXFXP8o1s4ZgiKsiC0h214EgB361rXFdj60d51bsh9g7uW4/s200/IMG_1595.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phone booths can still serve a purpose</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm thankful that my legs were strong, because my mind certainly wasn't. The legs, however... I just watched them power up punishing climb after punishing climb, completely unfazed. They seemed detached. A separate entity from my body. But then again, everything seemed detached. My hands were numb and useless, and my arms were indifferent, sheltered by my neon yellow cycling jacket. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Descents were far more painful than climbs as my eyelids couldn't blink away the rain water fast enough and the wind threatened to push me over. When you can't find happiness in a descent, something's wrong. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I stopped only twice in the 46 miles. Once halfway through for a cup of coffee and a bite to<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6MzzWb4LQcT1EdkoOjZD3QSh1KShmNNxs1NbUX3tGG4sHf1UNEVYjl9rOfwQW_C_Ld9GamLwghaLzWdRZTSHlryf3xj16hGCPVSilJhg2yT34IwKE6vFuay0JFdcfs9Lph0ve1XUR2w8/s1600/IMG_1596.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6MzzWb4LQcT1EdkoOjZD3QSh1KShmNNxs1NbUX3tGG4sHf1UNEVYjl9rOfwQW_C_Ld9GamLwghaLzWdRZTSHlryf3xj16hGCPVSilJhg2yT34IwKE6vFuay0JFdcfs9Lph0ve1XUR2w8/s320/IMG_1596.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from a phone booth</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> eat, and another time in a curiously remote phone booth, which I used as shelter while I took a leak into the storm. There was a sign in the booth, warning that it was going to be removed soon unless someone called to advocate for its existence. I tried to call to let them know I was making very good use of it. But the phone didn't work. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I tried to think warm thoughts, but the only thing I could come up with is my recollection of the penultimate day on my last tour, where I had camped on a beach and skinny-dipped in the welcoming Ionian Sea. That just made it worse. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There will be no skinny-dipping at John o'Groats tomorrow. You're welcome, Scotland. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCEUif-JOfPCIpBdogrIIJCh0o5mmU67QK0WvltrU77Z0AGWoA7fXydCcLEhD8ruB0XXLSZtARitedlzklgIBb5aqxQAK1Kp_x8xcPMEUsKAhQ-4ZeEE1byMmuczfS0dzr1Bj5VstkzU0/s1600/IMG_2736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCEUif-JOfPCIpBdogrIIJCh0o5mmU67QK0WvltrU77Z0AGWoA7fXydCcLEhD8ruB0XXLSZtARitedlzklgIBb5aqxQAK1Kp_x8xcPMEUsKAhQ-4ZeEE1byMmuczfS0dzr1Bj5VstkzU0/s200/IMG_2736.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last tour's end.<br />
Not at all this tour.<br />
Not even close.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I only saw two other cyclists out, heading the other direction. They smiled and waved, probably enjoying the 40 mph tailwind that may as well have served as a motor for them. I could only get myself to politely nod. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The misery lingered at the end of the ride, when I arrived at the hostel. My pants were soaked, but I had nothing else I was willing to wear in their place when I went out in search of dinner. So I sat over a plate of nachos, shivering. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I also skipped the beer, and ordered a Scotch whiskey instead. A foul-mouthed local named <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvR3IRpBgbi19wU6aAvjwRlAwf1cWUNYJYq-ybRhSIlFmxdjbmo37MUjIqpNzdsMzXs3JQ4UNywPmyjn-2G2t6kKTTQX6twam7NJzT41hpYmh9iKCG6BvqvFIIIAvW9nVFpVGdSsfYo-A/s1600/IMG_1603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvR3IRpBgbi19wU6aAvjwRlAwf1cWUNYJYq-ybRhSIlFmxdjbmo37MUjIqpNzdsMzXs3JQ4UNywPmyjn-2G2t6kKTTQX6twam7NJzT41hpYmh9iKCG6BvqvFIIIAvW9nVFpVGdSsfYo-A/s320/IMG_1603.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS SCOTCH SPONSORED BY ONE OF THE<br />
FIRST STUDENTS I'VE EVER HAD<br />
IN A CLASSROOM:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">LAUREN SPERLING!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">HER ACCOMPANYING NOTE WAS </span>GRAMMATICALLY PERFECT.<br />
<br />
CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=pwwuxWKdufFFR0_A6zXLaqL0BNWqJvgsHO-6wiNccIyjfweTMg1a6ozoHe1Xc224zliKSm&country.x=US&locale.x=US">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER.<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Kenny asked why I was taking a picture of it. I explained, and he ranted about how much he hates cyclists. "All of ya' c***s! I hate all of ya'! Ridin' in f***in' packs and holdin' up f***in' traffic!" I told him I ride solo, and I'm very conscious and considerate of cars. "Yer just another c***!" he replied. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'd had it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"You know what, Kenny? I had the shittiest day I've ever had on a bike and I'm not in the mood, so go f*** yourself." It just came out. Both of us were surprised. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I changed my mind," Kenny said. "I like you." Soon after, we were both laughing, trading insult for insult. I didn't pay for the second or third whiskey, and it took some self-discipline to leave after that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My pants were still wet, and my spirit was still dampened, but everything was a little better. I was starting to hear that other grade school adage: <i>"Whatever doesn't kill you..."</i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kenny advocates for me in a text to his friend.<br />
Hilarious response.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Someday, I'm sure I'll look back on this ride and laugh about it. Perhaps I'll even trick my memory into believing that I enjoyed powering through it, and finding the grit needed to go on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">just not yet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">just. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">not. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">yet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Look! A urinal toy! You play soccer with your stream!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>I scored four goals and was awarded a penalty kick. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>I was out of bounds twice. </i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-86355546625568374522019-08-09T03:20:00.001-07:002019-08-09T03:39:36.941-07:00Cheeky in Tongue<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 28 (Bonar Bridge back to Lairg then to Tongue)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 9.5 mph </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 50.9 miles (including a 4 mile SAG)</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 1,263.9 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2,011.2 ; 58,867.6 total</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSSTYHJoOQEiUjJupSK3HyMzvXyhegxa3iVSAFzPoYRmndYUBSi6Uq-gcSUBHxRc7IKKCudctGBnGMvTBUl81-4d5LPyJ75EtC8o7y8AzR43H1IosJMJXyuoXpQjW1e2kQbTZP6uwqgs/s1600/IMG_1058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSSTYHJoOQEiUjJupSK3HyMzvXyhegxa3iVSAFzPoYRmndYUBSi6Uq-gcSUBHxRc7IKKCudctGBnGMvTBUl81-4d5LPyJ75EtC8o7y8AzR43H1IosJMJXyuoXpQjW1e2kQbTZP6uwqgs/s400/IMG_1058.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hostel Art, coincidentally getting both my bike brand and saddle color correct.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I woke up to an impatient rapping at my door this morning.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Get up!” my host, Win, called.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">My phone’s battery had died, rendering the multiple alarms I’d set useless, and I assumed I had overslept.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxiNniKZqNAaOZwGi2NDsKZvdQMBtRhHo-2p9D_Cmr8AVdvXQxZ1c4QAywZ8ulqdYDt6w5esJQ-5UzGIQHi0Q-GR6lqUxabmLebH3R9S3zy1JoF7baOnTdX3kzVA6KBhTRTI817_oQNSY/s1600/IMG_1591.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxiNniKZqNAaOZwGi2NDsKZvdQMBtRhHo-2p9D_Cmr8AVdvXQxZ1c4QAywZ8ulqdYDt6w5esJQ-5UzGIQHi0Q-GR6lqUxabmLebH3R9S3zy1JoF7baOnTdX3kzVA6KBhTRTI817_oQNSY/s320/IMG_1591.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's Elevation Profile</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Coming!” I replied, trying to sound fully awake. Win was the kind of lady you don’t want to disappoint. I jumped out of bed and into my only pair of pants in nearly one motion.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">She was in the kitchen, frying bacon and muttering something about her disdain for vegans. The clock on the wall read 6:30, a solid half hour before the 7:00 breakfast time we’d agreed on. But damned if I was going to say anything. I was content to sip a boiling hot cup of coffee and play audience to Win, who was having a one-sided angry discussion with the news channel. The only portion of the broadcast she didn’t seem to have a problem with was the weather prediction, in which the smiling meteorologist discussed the different types of rain we’d be experiencing throughout Scotland today and the intensity at which it would fall hour by hour.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">When I was set to leave, Win watched my bags hawk-eyed from the window when I nonchalantly placed them outside.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I don’t think anyone’s going to steal them,” I said. The town of Lairg has a population of approximately four, and they all know one another.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Opportunity invites crime,” she said, and she sat there for several minutes while I gathered the rest of my things. Win might be an elderly woman who shuffles rather than walks, but I guarantee if she entered an MMA competition, she’d kick everyone’s ass.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">She called the taxi driver- one of the four locals- and reminded him that he was due to drop<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfbpcnyqA2rQsmm42tdUxyBntDy4MXncjLvL2XUkrjoe4DhOSrEewmfbyshOzAcBxPyzRBj-7dhwcPx0un7EywLsn4cD2PczX_CZuO2GpPdqMRg-3tDaHnl8ECE6RkHtW1jE3xty-G9Wo/s1600/IMG_1568.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfbpcnyqA2rQsmm42tdUxyBntDy4MXncjLvL2XUkrjoe4DhOSrEewmfbyshOzAcBxPyzRBj-7dhwcPx0un7EywLsn4cD2PczX_CZuO2GpPdqMRg-3tDaHnl8ECE6RkHtW1jE3xty-G9Wo/s320/IMG_1568.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The oddest store combination ever:<br />
1/2 Post Office, 1/2 Bicycle Repair Shop</td></tr>
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me at the train station so I could get my bicycle’s tire fixed in Bonar Bridge. He was there shortly afterward. Clearly he didn’t want to cross her either.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Rather than drop me off, however, he drove past the station, noting how much easier it’d be if he just dropped me off where I needed to be. He didn’t charge me for the extra ten miles. Perhaps he was too entertained at the unease I was showing by sitting on the “wrong side” of the car, and that was payment enough.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">At the Post Office / Bicycle Shop (“We’re the only one in Britain!”) Chris, the owner, examined my shitty rear tire. Something sharp was embedded in the rubber itself, which was causing the punctures. He threw a new tire on, did some casual tune-ups, and I was on my way, re-cycling the ten miles I had ended with the night before and back into Lairg.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lxuxF4Ls_s2p_a_5ZVeVj1oyLSrK8srr7qaisaG4PJV83CkOkmGLGcemULw7dgq9dEbfrZBYNSrvQS-HjM-4EplR3I_KPEnSDLrblrWsDBY6DexHuq1lTW_tbkDUdASB0mdf72KFa7s/s1600/IMG_1580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0lxuxF4Ls_s2p_a_5ZVeVj1oyLSrK8srr7qaisaG4PJV83CkOkmGLGcemULw7dgq9dEbfrZBYNSrvQS-HjM-4EplR3I_KPEnSDLrblrWsDBY6DexHuq1lTW_tbkDUdASB0mdf72KFa7s/s320/IMG_1580.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scene from today's ride</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The day can be defined by three words: Cold, Windy, and Wet. And I guess “Ugly” wouldn’t be an inappropriate word to use since any lush green in the barren landscape was unfairly muted by the low, gray sky. It was impossible to get lost as there was only a single-lane road in which to travel, very reminiscent of the United States’ Route 50 (the so-called “Loneliest Road in America”). This Scottish version was just as un-lonely, being heavily travelled by camper vans and RV’s making their way to the northern coast.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">A comically remote inn appeared halfway through the ride, and it was open. The Crask Inn. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjX3U_IGaJEHPIyIalLqQEAPxJGPOSKcMwvjml7Ir5nl5c7K6orX2sGMJJ1xUwvKateqzL1ZwVPAmW9NSrE6FP9zChtzfykV6sKpv2FyPhwmovPwLXtupllRhfhQH3SjK1B71Gh4GWpwU/s1600/IMG_1576.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjX3U_IGaJEHPIyIalLqQEAPxJGPOSKcMwvjml7Ir5nl5c7K6orX2sGMJJ1xUwvKateqzL1ZwVPAmW9NSrE6FP9zChtzfykV6sKpv2FyPhwmovPwLXtupllRhfhQH3SjK1B71Gh4GWpwU/s200/IMG_1576.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Britain's most remote inn</td></tr>
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They capitalize on the ridiculousness of their location, and it’s a spot where everybody stops. If there were anytime on this trip to break my “no beer while riding” rule, it was now, and I cozied up to the bar next to a rather snooty and condescending English cyclist who, for the next fifteen minutes, picked at a scone and commented on my slow route and heavy bike. “I’d love to talk all day,” he said as he stood up to go, “but I have places to be.” <i>Tata!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5HW86DBL53ujmsypRdq6TCqwH0_47Zi0cgYHwwhJCn4GZSIJeHwwgJLUrJqUhU3JWPqb55Q4VbqkLhodAcWmRScgRJMppFLt4kvdCsg-j_aXpi03vZPrvD5d25aLRlJkQGr7E8R39BIA/s1600/IMG_1578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5HW86DBL53ujmsypRdq6TCqwH0_47Zi0cgYHwwhJCn4GZSIJeHwwgJLUrJqUhU3JWPqb55Q4VbqkLhodAcWmRScgRJMppFLt4kvdCsg-j_aXpi03vZPrvD5d25aLRlJkQGr7E8R39BIA/s200/IMG_1578.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS MID-RIDE BEER SPONSORED BY:<br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">ERIC HARRIS!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=HLUuSt61_OSRWrtC1opLTOv1L6GDWcqIrFvTGGEOIh6LhAyd7SxgsCi0ibGIx7gUpDtzCW&country.x=US&locale.x=US">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The rain, the wind, and the cold worsened after that as I slogged my way to Tongue. The midges were there to keep me moving as well. As long as you’re in motion, they won’t bother you, but one stationary minute and you’re the center of their party. To take my mind off of the miserable leg of the journey, I started to come up with “Tongue” puns, which I think is a rather silly name for a town.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I started off simple:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>“What do you call a Debbie Downer at a pub in Tongue?” </b></span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>A Tongue depressor!</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b>What’s the worst weather event Tongue has ever seen?”</b></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> <i>A Tongue twister!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“</span><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What do you call Medieval torture in Tongue?”</span></b> <i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A Tongue lashing!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Too easy. I came up with better ones:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>“What did the citizens of Tongue do when they entered an American bar?”</b></span><span class="Apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b> </b></span> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Taste Buds!</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Why was the town Tongue exempt from Prohibition laws?” </span></b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>They had to many liquors!</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">And my favorite, </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"><b>“What did the Italian Dr. Frankenstein say when he resurrected his Monster in the town of Tongue?</b></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> <i> </i></span><i>It’s saliva! </i>(say it out loud).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I’ll stop now. I’m getting too cheeky. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">But that was five miles of entertainment right there.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ405uF7fvv5Sm2l-baQmUGxRAzGnWjLB24Eg1Hf-ZS8TlbgxFhSAu-qK9Y-dk-BJxpl71v6fxogq5tVO0VnrpNZIbnJUGVx5twvOyZ1mhTAieO9bgtwlAIxfaihF23K1W8zirieixPLg/s1600/IMG_1583.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ405uF7fvv5Sm2l-baQmUGxRAzGnWjLB24Eg1Hf-ZS8TlbgxFhSAu-qK9Y-dk-BJxpl71v6fxogq5tVO0VnrpNZIbnJUGVx5twvOyZ1mhTAieO9bgtwlAIxfaihF23K1W8zirieixPLg/s320/IMG_1583.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wish you were here!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I found my way to the hostel, where everyone had a story about where they had passed me on the road during the day. One guy, named Chris Williams, had passed me on his motorcycle with a sidecar attachment. He’s a true biker dude, and a fascinating character who is a Scottish history buff. What would normally be a brief small talk conversation turned into a great couple of hours as we discussed the controversial <a href="https://www.britannica.com/event/Highland-Clearances">Clearances of Scotland</a> (which happened right here in Tongue) and Chris’s passion for <a href="https://www.academyofhistoricalarts.co.uk/glasgow/hema-in-glasgow/">HEMA</a>, the art of historical sword fighting.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Chris gave me a laminated card with his number on it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“If anyone at all gives you shit anywhere in Scotland, call me and I’ll get it taken care of.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I’ve got a biker on my side who is a master swordsman.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Now let’s see if those midges want to fuck with me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Purchased my first souvenir of the trip. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Had to.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>There was only one left.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaMkEcrObGES6LW-Z0dFGeQEuPK6BjbBXuZoMhsyzVJiTUyDfIzwdEuohTLwWeJhec0pZQtPM9Ic1t7kLQsuY8NhiC3dFC_RA9cAVnBvWtSCmA4M4RxJsT2hO7Ky6wDhC8dqVl3NAOhsY/s1600/IMG_1588.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaMkEcrObGES6LW-Z0dFGeQEuPK6BjbBXuZoMhsyzVJiTUyDfIzwdEuohTLwWeJhec0pZQtPM9Ic1t7kLQsuY8NhiC3dFC_RA9cAVnBvWtSCmA4M4RxJsT2hO7Ky6wDhC8dqVl3NAOhsY/s400/IMG_1588.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-41346599674384693862019-08-08T03:20:00.002-07:002019-08-08T03:22:48.510-07:00Ready to Re-Tyre<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 27 (Inverness to Lairg)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: Don't care </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 53.2 miles (including a 4 mile SAG)</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 1213 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2608.3 ; 56,856.4 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Somewhat challenging.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN7jvAxeSZ6597gGiyFueeT5kcwPeFyW_J3xGrzmdrnxyXZNcc43_nePnocOOHz7WqUL0ZStUY56hPftXBbG-LNR1kxK-s-Ur2mI9NrWzFM_ETVvkpX0mhS_bWIpXzICJ6eevazlwmfPw/s1600/IMG_1389+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN7jvAxeSZ6597gGiyFueeT5kcwPeFyW_J3xGrzmdrnxyXZNcc43_nePnocOOHz7WqUL0ZStUY56hPftXBbG-LNR1kxK-s-Ur2mI9NrWzFM_ETVvkpX0mhS_bWIpXzICJ6eevazlwmfPw/s400/IMG_1389+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your wish is my command.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">It felt like a flat tire sort of day. You know those days... Eeyore-esque. They're gray. You grind. Oh, bother. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcC0IUYMV3-wldatmqK1cvDh6uz7RIT2axKj5Nt16AWnjldBS7SdoPROv_SWy4QWr6-_fxj90aziCdXiWeyBrs-wXSr762wq0gGsQoO7f7SZucQV3NT6FTNwt_Sf1kfQT-1e84tzco_UE/s1600/IMG_1546+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcC0IUYMV3-wldatmqK1cvDh6uz7RIT2axKj5Nt16AWnjldBS7SdoPROv_SWy4QWr6-_fxj90aziCdXiWeyBrs-wXSr762wq0gGsQoO7f7SZucQV3NT6FTNwt_Sf1kfQT-1e84tzco_UE/s320/IMG_1546+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Inverness from Kessock Bridge.<br />
Only part of the day that wasn't gray!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I mean, it was fine and all. The ride out of Inverness took me over the nifty cable-stayed Kessock Bridge and through all sorts of twisty cycle tracks. And there were some decent climbs that I was happy to tackle, followed by quick, exhilarating descents. I enjoyed a scoop of Scottish tablet ice cream (yum) in the small town of Dingwall (<i>Last chance to stop at a supermarket! </i>my guide warned). Still, the ride wasn't quite meeting the norm. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">So it was no surprise when the back tire went flat. Again. It was a frustrating half hour<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvs-V621ZqljV5FqZuuke3wYL78StL1TYldu8NUV4wYon60YQY9e7md7r4TkRDwMmrU7mYgxT0wBsKqlUEA88wEyAPn8jPKbOBKg1dbOK0JlvpPyXJ21Cc6ETAbgJa3IkaYDYyuie530/s1600/IMG_1551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvs-V621ZqljV5FqZuuke3wYL78StL1TYldu8NUV4wYon60YQY9e7md7r4TkRDwMmrU7mYgxT0wBsKqlUEA88wEyAPn8jPKbOBKg1dbOK0JlvpPyXJ21Cc6ETAbgJa3IkaYDYyuie530/s320/IMG_1551.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flat. Again. </td></tr>
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stop to repair it (getting a tire off is no problem... but putting it back on can be a bear). A couple vacationing from New Zealand stopped just as I was finishing to offer assistance. Their destination was the same as mine: Lairg. A village that has one of everything most travelers need. One hotel. One restaurant. One convenience store. The couple told me they'd meet me at the pub later, as I was only about an hour's ride away. I told them if they didn't see me there, it meant that I got another flat. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Indeed, I never saw them again. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My last spare tube went flat seven miles later, and no amount of pumping could keep it inflated enough to ride more than 100 feet or so. I weighed my options. I could walk to Lairg, which was a little more than four miles away. Or perhaps my last tube, which I had kept, still had a bit of life in it. So I changed it again, and the midges were happy to come help<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggQ1VdnydC5gfMJSwJOt7HFd94hslLm8Lx2dMC379wTPNt41lak-3whpY-DyL1dYUmypRc0tPCw5SzGohutoApnwVfyFhiBvWSL6iMsnhO7qoipqeYSL4TYf50d8DSBtHwoWBeMi8s_g0/s1600/midge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="900" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggQ1VdnydC5gfMJSwJOt7HFd94hslLm8Lx2dMC379wTPNt41lak-3whpY-DyL1dYUmypRc0tPCw5SzGohutoApnwVfyFhiBvWSL6iMsnhO7qoipqeYSL4TYf50d8DSBtHwoWBeMi8s_g0/s200/midge.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A midge.<br />
They're way smaller.<br />
And they travel in the millions.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">People had been warning me about midges since before I set out. They haven't been a problem yet at all, and I almost thought they were a work of fiction. Unlike the haggis, however, midges are real. They're these nasty gnat-like / mosquitoish hybrids that travel in swarms. From what I can tell, they're specific to Scotland, particularly the Highlands. And once they find you, you're at their mercy. I used a lot of foul language and threatened their tiny little lives, but they didn't seem to care. Midges suck. They don't know how to play nice. And my pock-marked face is evidence. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Also, they don't taste particularly good. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was another half hour pointlessly spent as, of course, the tube was worthless. I knew it would be. Just figured I'd try. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Luckily for me (and I mean very luckily), a man named Pete Williams was out walking his<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA4Mhyphenhyphen6HX5reAioGnqJqx8ko-9mwtjjpZu9MDw5ejTKEyYL2-MrKK272_pHJ2o6GMJcNdEwqlh4YBWG7n8N_oB4yudsZbf0g0kVb2u03XJly7F9LR1M_AEhKEpyySXf1Uepu6OohUiDgA/s1600/IMG_1560+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA4Mhyphenhyphen6HX5reAioGnqJqx8ko-9mwtjjpZu9MDw5ejTKEyYL2-MrKK272_pHJ2o6GMJcNdEwqlh4YBWG7n8N_oB4yudsZbf0g0kVb2u03XJly7F9LR1M_AEhKEpyySXf1Uepu6OohUiDgA/s200/IMG_1560+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bike in Pete's car</td></tr>
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husky. Pete is pretty much the only person who lives in the area where I was broken down. He assessed the predicament, and while I could've camped right there, we both figured the problem wasn't going to solve itself in the morning. He was gracious enough to offer me a ride into town, which I accepted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Another stroke of luck was the availability of a cheap room at a B&B, run by a hospitable but no-nonsense woman named Win. I knocked on her door, gave her the £30 she requested, and then she told me to come back after I got dinner. I'm relatively certain this was the only B&B in Scotland with a vacancy. They're everywhere, even in the most remote spots, but the signs out front always say NO VACANCY. It's puzzling. Especially on a Wednesday. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View before descent into Ardgay</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the local pub, three young guys named Douglas, Stuan, and Jordan figured out the plan for me. It would involve getting up early and taking a train back a few towns to Bonar Bridge (pronounced "boner" should you be curious). Like I said, Lairg has one of everything for most travelers. But most travelers don't need a bike shop. I was at ease though, and the conversation went from cycling to cinema. Their welcome to Lairg was extraordinary, and I had all but forgotten about my midge marks and troubled tires.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjFiuDQHJMoxp1Fx7UmOz8-Ll6dqkupz2v2CrnaCdgkT10HPK5omcj9P7IHaAapJS_GmWjTNNYZ9UVHO18-jIH77qxgKiq903yHHtzYPj6XVHDofuYZn9TPDdUaU4cEjOUhkHE97Y-Gw/s1600/IMG_1562+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjFiuDQHJMoxp1Fx7UmOz8-Ll6dqkupz2v2CrnaCdgkT10HPK5omcj9P7IHaAapJS_GmWjTNNYZ9UVHO18-jIH77qxgKiq903yHHtzYPj6XVHDofuYZn9TPDdUaU4cEjOUhkHE97Y-Gw/s320/IMG_1562+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">PAUL SMITH!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Thanks, Paul!<br /><br />CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=4F_7CEapFRJ421Q5vGGOuTUERhtmQ73xwIyFp5dmROdj7PcUiQEfeFmnR8t1Kyijaam-lW&country.x=US&locale.x=US">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Back at the B&B, Win determined that I would need to be up at 7 AM for breakfast, and made no bones about the fact that she'd be knocking on my door at 6:45. "If I'm up, you're up," she said with a dry sense of humor. She also arranged a taxi ride to the train station for me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I frequently mention predicaments on these types of trips before saying how lucky I am to get out of them. Were it not for Derek (the Kiwi), Douglas, Stuan, Jordan, Win, Pete, and the cook who made dinner despite the kitchen having been closed, I'd still be scratching my head. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But no one's that lucky. It's not luck at all. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's a wonderful day after all when you realize that's just the way people are. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">P.S.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Maybe I've been around middle-schoolers too long... but I found it difficult not to laugh at the chosen graphic for the town's exit.</i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-9685198775305378102019-08-07T04:02:00.002-07:002019-08-07T04:15:28.596-07:00Asking for Angela<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 26 (Aviemore to Inverness)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 11 mph </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 40.3 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 1159.8 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 1666.7 ; 54,248.1 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Relatively easy</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bicycle Sculpture along the National Cycle Network</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Inverness is great... if you like smack and seagulls!" Gary had told me yesterday at The<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inverness in the rain</td></tr>
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Bridge Inn in Aviemore. Not exactly a ringing endorsement. Neither smack nor seagulls seem particularly helpful to a touring cyclist. So I was pleasantly surprised to cycle into Inverness and find it to be such a great city. Though small, it's the largest city in The Highlands, and its downtown has a distinct charm to it- even through the cold, steady rain. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Into the woods!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The ride in was nice enough. Simple. Quick. Quiet. Through the woods on a long cycle track, then through a couple of small villages, and into the Monadhliath Mountains. It's always a pleasure to see a "Summit" sign at the top of a climb, no matter how easy the climb feels. The mountains in Britain aren't tall by any means (especially in comparison with those in the States), but they're appearing more frequently on the ride and make for pleasant, light </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">challenges. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy5P_0NaJA_Zk8EuV3QJxpqt7r4VG2zRQfQT6gxH3XXgup8t73zrZU36zf8vJFL3kxVcTYkRpac_U2li324Vaoux8oHw36PXTyLp3qbISJAV14Udm9QusKpT6l1UCvYF6UmcIbVWkmxvo/s1600/IMG_1520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy5P_0NaJA_Zk8EuV3QJxpqt7r4VG2zRQfQT6gxH3XXgup8t73zrZU36zf8vJFL3kxVcTYkRpac_U2li324Vaoux8oHw36PXTyLp3qbISJAV14Udm9QusKpT6l1UCvYF6UmcIbVWkmxvo/s320/IMG_1520.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I passed by the Clava Cairns, ancient burial grounds estimated to be about 4,000 years old and still somewhat intact. It seemed important that I stop and take the same photos I saw other tourists taking. I always assume that other tourists know what they're doing, so when I see one snapping a photo, I often do the same. They just typically hang around longer than I do. I was in and out of the Clava Cairns in five minutes after reading an informational sign or two and checking out the rocks. "We've seen it! Let's go!" I could hear my father saying when my family got out of the car in South Dakota on a cross-country trip to glimpse Mount Rushmore. People travel from all over to see the famed landmark, but you could count the minutes we stared at it on one hand before skedaddling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I mean, really. The ancient Clava Cairns were cool to look at, but what else are you supposed to do? Hold a séance and try to connect with the dead? What then?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The rain started as I left (I'm really getting sick of the rain... and boy oh boy does it make my shoes stink), and I hauled ass to my destination, where I Googled "Things to Do in Inverness" and examined a top-ten list, excited that I could already check off <i><b>Visit the Clava Cairns. </b></i></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Inverness Castle.<br />
Probably should've gotten a picture of the actual castle.<br />
That's behind me. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Some other suggestions were <i style="font-weight: bold;">Eat Haggis </i>(check!), <i style="font-weight: bold;">Walk Along the River Ness</i> (check!), <i style="font-weight: bold;">Enjoy the View from Inverness Castle</i> (check!), <i style="font-weight: bold;">Visit the Loch Ness Monster Center </i>(hell no!), and <i style="font-weight: bold;">Go to Gellions Bar, The Highlands Oldest Pub</i> (don't ask me twice). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nearly every pub in Scotland claims to be the oldest of its particular type. I don't understand why being old as an establishment is necessarily a good thing. But being that Tripadvisor suggested Gellions as a necessary site to visit, I didn't feel the need to argue.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I walked in, two Polish women named Anya and Ivana immediately greeted me. They worked at a local guest house together and had been living in Scotland for 13 years. From the way they were groping one another, I assumed they were a couple. I had hardly taken a sip of the Loch Ness Pale Ale I'd ordered when Anya grabbed my wrist and said "Come on. Vee go now to another pub."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Okay. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So I was pub hopping with Anya and Ivana.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-eIQnXcQwxzYfmu2PZZYloJIGQElmGj8S0TA1KZXtnBaKpuJq3NG-pKqwSRLlIy6qwD4kSP-YbQyTywopNMf_oy6y6f4gh5FVSloUej3BdhP5h5Li39wrxRtahd_62F3cKM0TEAJIHCQ/s1600/IMG_1528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-eIQnXcQwxzYfmu2PZZYloJIGQElmGj8S0TA1KZXtnBaKpuJq3NG-pKqwSRLlIy6qwD4kSP-YbQyTywopNMf_oy6y6f4gh5FVSloUej3BdhP5h5Li39wrxRtahd_62F3cKM0TEAJIHCQ/s320/IMG_1528.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">JANE ANDERSON!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=Zkb7LoYebGXuXofMF3DieO1B9kJoqhK-H7EkJoy9D1XSGsRAV7O68sel73WwJYrO2Aq57W&country.x=US&locale.x=US">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER!</span></td></tr>
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was fun at first, but it started to get weird when they decided to include me in the groping. Ivana eventually discovered that my lightweight pants become shorts if you unzip them at the knee, and half of my outfit was suddenly being tossed throughout the bar, at one point landing in the laps of two sisters from Missouri who were on vacation. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Why you have my huzband's pants?" Ivana asked. "Vee just got married and now you have hiz pants."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"You just got married?" one of the sister's asked. I (foolishly) played along with dripping sarcasm in my voice. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Yes," I said. "We met ten minutes ago, got married five minutes ago, and we'll be divorced before midnight." </span><br />
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<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11t1jrPy7_hLtW6WAyCIMXwnFbU5npkSbydPdrCmNW675ChubmK9B93_9YtRvxy_VqqFDZJvhR2dkS_bdeQg_ZuKDW6zQVP2Na5-XsAIIVw1YJST6Jtso-DE_KC_AkXk7Rsts2hmZ9GM/s1600/IMG_1535.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11t1jrPy7_hLtW6WAyCIMXwnFbU5npkSbydPdrCmNW675ChubmK9B93_9YtRvxy_VqqFDZJvhR2dkS_bdeQg_ZuKDW6zQVP2Na5-XsAIIVw1YJST6Jtso-DE_KC_AkXk7Rsts2hmZ9GM/s320/IMG_1535.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yup. This is where it got weird. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Congratulations!" the two sisters said simultaneously.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These are the types of tourists who believe the haggis is indeed an actual creature who stalks around the Scottish countryside. When my new wife was out of earshot, I explained the truth. Ivana returned, and seemed genuinely jealous that I was talking to other people. She and Anya decided I could not be left alone, and one of them was always holding onto my arm, dragging me throughout the pub should they decide to move. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Like I said, shit got weird. And I was super uncomfortable. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As the Missouri couple was leaving, one of the sisters whispered something into my ear. "Do you know about asking for Angela?" she asked. I shook my head. No. "If you feel like you're in danger, go to the bartender and ask for Angela. It's code that you need help. I don't trust these two at all!" </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Frb_vd4EJBBqvsDMkCtLhR164bQGn0KTaZejK8vwpBDIb5O2FpF4V4Q7lBPbvcgx1M-TZ2foAg-zdyTT5KPsctY3OtY-4LMrL_ptLFfnsure0Jex4nUuTq8kMzxSi3uO9jivZ5miOWE/s1600/IMG_1538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Frb_vd4EJBBqvsDMkCtLhR164bQGn0KTaZejK8vwpBDIb5O2FpF4V4Q7lBPbvcgx1M-TZ2foAg-zdyTT5KPsctY3OtY-4LMrL_ptLFfnsure0Jex4nUuTq8kMzxSi3uO9jivZ5miOWE/s320/IMG_1538.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ivana inexplicably hides in shrubbery</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don't know what kind of ridiculous website these ladies browsed in preparation for their trip to Scotland, but can you imagine a 39 year old man with nervous eyes asking the 18 year old girl tending bar about Angela's whereabouts was with an exaggerated wink?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I made a hurried exit when Ivana and Anya made the mistake of trusting me alone while they went to the bathroom. "Stay right here huzband! Don't you move!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thank God I didn't tell them where I was staying. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They do know my final destination, however. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So should you hear someone desperately shouting for Angela on the way to John O'Groats, rest assured that they found me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">P.S.</span><br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>That moment when you're in the bathroom at a Scottish pub and are torn</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>between whether to purchase the inflatable sheep or the sticky willy.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ_mH6ZhHFFSEQiA4mIfSvEW0YqM0kTKZ4A4Mv-tupPM84kISaVCreFdcnz1rBoBYMTUYHHB82-IGmrTJ2Oa2uPpgeK3LR5CPgZZRDPbBC15TWnEKmWrJdpRVb9o4UDZW135TABV-2408/s1600/IMG_1541.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ_mH6ZhHFFSEQiA4mIfSvEW0YqM0kTKZ4A4Mv-tupPM84kISaVCreFdcnz1rBoBYMTUYHHB82-IGmrTJ2Oa2uPpgeK3LR5CPgZZRDPbBC15TWnEKmWrJdpRVb9o4UDZW135TABV-2408/s400/IMG_1541.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-57811309608979862762019-08-06T03:11:00.000-07:002019-08-06T04:20:43.939-07:00Training Days are Over<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 25 (Pitlochry to Aviemore)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 13 mph </span><br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 60.1 miles </span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 1119.5 miles </span></h2>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2467.2 ; 52,581.4 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Moderate</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTM7kDLvCa_Xxl3QdL1o5LWiJmCm3p8AbHNFwWn22pD60ve8DdO4RGFGBlOdJiYx_GotPgsUohQ97SHKzn-G16vbP27D-k7ZAS4gGQBqqENDryb5YzPpcDQGN61LBVR78nNQ7KwshR4A/s1600/IMG_1471.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTM7kDLvCa_Xxl3QdL1o5LWiJmCm3p8AbHNFwWn22pD60ve8DdO4RGFGBlOdJiYx_GotPgsUohQ97SHKzn-G16vbP27D-k7ZAS4gGQBqqENDryb5YzPpcDQGN61LBVR78nNQ7KwshR4A/s400/IMG_1471.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ever-so-Popular Bicycle as Planter</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Did someone shove a rocket up your arse?”</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhnc5tKdkTEdypslEEohg1mgBPSXVY_8kpBQPRSn1NVBE3LvooIkXMwjIfgftN1E0FPsh1q3TBubO3sMP29OEugBN0lL68W0N30POQAeKWGOz0dBIxWb6PTIdB_dsTVreCJTxoBDMLFY/s1600/IMG_1475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkhnc5tKdkTEdypslEEohg1mgBPSXVY_8kpBQPRSn1NVBE3LvooIkXMwjIfgftN1E0FPsh1q3TBubO3sMP29OEugBN0lL68W0N30POQAeKWGOz0dBIxWb6PTIdB_dsTVreCJTxoBDMLFY/s320/IMG_1475.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was sunny for an hour or so!</td></tr>
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<div class="p1" style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Jamie Norton said this once after I zipped by him somewhere in Nevada. I heard those words in that Yorkshire accent over and over again today. I mean, I know a 13 mph pace is nothing to get all that excited about, but it's certainly my fastest of the trip and every bit of it felt great. I</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">t's only sixty miles, but I’m proud them, dammit. </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">It felt like the rocket was in place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Or it could be the fact that I brought my tires up to their proper PSI, having been very under-inflated since I changed my last flat (RIP old pump). That probably makes more sense. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I prefer to think that I'm finally warmed up. </span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; font-weight: normal; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfvU_mw96MvawFo8rPjRdUzCWUBYuwSVR2Zw7LO4hdG3Es_rxOeBrrJ_Q4EZiDT5TJpgrojOilBwD_E6qAgEig11_wEFrHEFaOaUU7tNig_1o4d35TRuJQO6SoIexI_UAEDDh6eL5hoQ/s1600/IMG_1480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfvU_mw96MvawFo8rPjRdUzCWUBYuwSVR2Zw7LO4hdG3Es_rxOeBrrJ_Q4EZiDT5TJpgrojOilBwD_E6qAgEig11_wEFrHEFaOaUU7tNig_1o4d35TRuJQO6SoIexI_UAEDDh6eL5hoQ/s320/IMG_1480.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artistic Cycle Path Marker</td></tr>
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<div class="p1" style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">There’s this thing that happens… about three weeks into starting any beneficial activity- whether it’s dieting, or exercising, or (I assume) yoga- where it starts to actually feel good. I suppose for some, it’s gradual. But for me I can pinpoint it. I know exactly where I was in Missouri when climbing no longer fazed me, and the day after a long climb in Albania everything else was metaphorically downhill.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Why not just put yourself through that three weeks before a tour?” you might ask. And that’s a great question. But I have an answer. 1) Laziness. Reasons 2) and 3) and 4) and 5) are all other things that are eventually going to point back to 1), so I won’t enumerate them, but they’re there.</span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; font-weight: normal; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXbZe5QRDif7noeViM0cEj10KX0VARJRumBm0xqj468lefuk-zF_RVi_NTM-idvjM_a5y-UogJ7g3vhbqpxONWWhcFh-bO1GWw7pNo-QJF-XN2gOqkT6nTLEOYqexekcJt9pDjgg-XWrA/s1600/IMG_1513.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXbZe5QRDif7noeViM0cEj10KX0VARJRumBm0xqj468lefuk-zF_RVi_NTM-idvjM_a5y-UogJ7g3vhbqpxONWWhcFh-bO1GWw7pNo-QJF-XN2gOqkT6nTLEOYqexekcJt9pDjgg-XWrA/s320/IMG_1513.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's Elevation Profile</td></tr>
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<div class="p1" style="font-weight: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The way I prepare for a tour is akin to a runner walking around a city block and stopping at every bar in preparation for a marathon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">But the climbs felt great today, especially the Drumochter Pass in the Grampian Mountains. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">It’s difficult to differentiate between a mountain and a hill, but in my vernacular, mountains are typically enjoyable to climb whereas hills are often not. Mountains offer long ascents, and politely ask your respect. If they could speak, they’d have a refined British accent- like that of Henry Higgins- and you accept the challenge. “Hello, and welcome,” a mountain would say, “If there’s anything I can do to assist you in your endeavor, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Hills, on the other hand, are just plain bitchy. And if they could speak, they’d sound like Fran Drescher from <i>The Nanny</i>. “Smell this!” they’d say, wondering if their freshly Febreezed hot pants would past muster in the self checkout at Wal-Mart.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It’s hard to love a hill.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPWsN9n8EmkV059hZaequFhgXM8y1e9IxNKu2AZaEzLDDb_fPQGMKjWoPBJOZ02XqfCDRCrnIJI6g4LZIRzwJg46EzDRS9tFSF5RpSSQo-qmM9V5D1wHREuijtzx1M3piFvTxCdTJLyI/s1600/IMG_1498.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPWsN9n8EmkV059hZaequFhgXM8y1e9IxNKu2AZaEzLDDb_fPQGMKjWoPBJOZ02XqfCDRCrnIJI6g4LZIRzwJg46EzDRS9tFSF5RpSSQo-qmM9V5D1wHREuijtzx1M3piFvTxCdTJLyI/s320/IMG_1498.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nothing to see here... just another castle!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mountains also provide rewards. You know what’s better than descending at a 3-4% gradient with the Scottish Highlands in the foreground for 20 miles while Ben Folds is providing the soundtrack on a (mostly) paved traffic-free path? Puppies. But that’s about it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Even Lennie Small would agree.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Steep descents are thrilling, for sure, but they're over too quickly and you have to exercise more caution. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The weather was certainly Scottish today- the gray rainy morning turned to bright warm sunshine, but just as I passed a sign warning cyclists that there would be no shelter for the next thirty kilometers a storm appeared in the distance. I estimated it to be about fifty miles away. I was off by about forty-nine (give or take). It was sudden and violent, and I assumed the lightning that was crashing down would find me as its target. Ya' know... because I was wearing bright yellow. If I were lightning, I'd be attracted to yellow. But two miles later, that was over. "If you don't like the weather in Scotland," a passing cyclist said, "just hang around for ten minutes." Still, it's difficult to look at a Scottish 10-day weather forecast and get excited:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">It was a somewhat hilly ride into Aviemore after the long descent was over, but I was amped. Rather than downshifting as I approached them, I did the opposite, attacking each one with fresh strength and confidence. I had completely forgotten about my <a href="http://greensaddle.blogspot.com/2019/07/my-new-cycle-partner.html">stupid virtual partner, Chad</a>. As usual, my Garmin alerted me that I had once again lost the race to him. But this time, he only beat me by five miles. Baby steps. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">KERI GIULIANO!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Thank you!<br /><br />Click <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=7JZpJnMB1y_DbTQzBFhv5mECFM64eO39leDV1udGbO4MbG0qLXyRe3EeDE6vHsmlXIgDO0&country.x=US&locale.x=US">HERE</a> to sponsor a beer!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I was bummed when the sixty miles was over. But the ride always ends at a pub, where I met a local named Gary who was happy to add to the tale of the haggis ("It can either be shot with a bow and arrow or clubbed... it's skin is completely impervious to bullets!). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Perhaps I should've just kept riding on today. If it weren't for the fact that I'd secured bookings at sites for the rest of the tour, I probably would've. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">When this leg was over, I didn't think I had it in me to do another sixty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I knew I had it in me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">P.S. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Who knew 'Little Shop of Horrors' was actually an accurate prediction of the future?</i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-41333584861537339272019-08-05T02:26:00.001-07:002019-08-05T02:26:24.368-07:00Just Another Tourist<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 24 (Killin to Pitlochry)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 10 mph </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 39.6 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 1059.4 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2280.2 ; 50,114.2 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Medium Rare</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjE5YvNVOcyvto1J_2WSmz0kSt-bwEh31z6AgccLKfGctXBGN4IhKxXRtX5cIw-WrodDL_LcKVnB7to_9Gt_ooef4HhRCUnhYGjER9SZdMcmeySi90Ysidtyv2QdET6uANpPUssY01E8/s1600/IMG_1404+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjE5YvNVOcyvto1J_2WSmz0kSt-bwEh31z6AgccLKfGctXBGN4IhKxXRtX5cIw-WrodDL_LcKVnB7to_9Gt_ooef4HhRCUnhYGjER9SZdMcmeySi90Ysidtyv2QdET6uANpPUssY01E8/s400/IMG_1404+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bicycle Graffiti outside a Cycle Shop</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">My latest start of the trip. 12:45 PM. That's the time that normal touring cyclists are often in <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvcxbxHpgQs2NchyphenhyphenViCPpmtRGTgQvpWK0N4_qv4VGReH7xwI8RQMNm6rzAaic0KE6gmXQGwQthJ-8_6kNubvFssdenHmUEv-V9Yh2dyFuKEwKto9tKwKJ5wnnWRbFybMohgNtrPgkWAY/s1600/IMG_1448+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvcxbxHpgQs2NchyphenhyphenViCPpmtRGTgQvpWK0N4_qv4VGReH7xwI8RQMNm6rzAaic0KE6gmXQGwQthJ-8_6kNubvFssdenHmUEv-V9Yh2dyFuKEwKto9tKwKJ5wnnWRbFybMohgNtrPgkWAY/s200/IMG_1448+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scene from Today's Ride</td></tr>
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the final third leg of the day's journey. Not me! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">It's not that I didn't wake up early enough. I opened my eyes at 7:30 AM in my tiny tent, listening to the rain pounding down, and thankful that I'd replaced my old paper-thin coffin-sized tent on Day 2. Maybe I'm not a "real camper," but I find it difficult to willingly step foot out into a driving cold rain moments after waking up. I allowed myself a good three hours of dryness, warmth, and self-contemplation while bathing in my own morning stench before I even reached to unzip the tent flap. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I was also able to amuse the more adventurous passers-by, who were all getting a jump on the day for <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8B8Im2WiwvpgXtG2AdH8C5bRcXpxIDjc55wvTqL_XHRAKf1d29vixIIWLKmvSkGgHoPkMBzO9koYjXZ9zjMzs8iAZC_T5t5tJlrBsky6ZfguRVaRSHd_lhqziPTH8fwO62Zd1tETmHoU/s1600/IMG_1457.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8B8Im2WiwvpgXtG2AdH8C5bRcXpxIDjc55wvTqL_XHRAKf1d29vixIIWLKmvSkGgHoPkMBzO9koYjXZ9zjMzs8iAZC_T5t5tJlrBsky6ZfguRVaRSHd_lhqziPTH8fwO62Zd1tETmHoU/s200/IMG_1457.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scene from Today's Ride</td></tr>
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their morning hike. Apparently, I was not as camouflaged as I thought as I heard each of them make some sort of commentary about my set-up. <i>I wonder if there's anybody in there? </i>I heard one say. <i>Look! A wild camper!</i> from another. <i>How many people do you think can fit in that tent?</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I answered each of these queries with my loud morning trumpet sound effect. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">It's a sound that doesn't require vocal cords. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">But boy, it never fails to delight people who aren't within the immediate olfactory-affected area. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">They'd giggle. Applaud. Cheer. Thankful for the monosyllabic answer to their question. And then move on, happier than they were before. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Just doin' what I can to improve a person's day. One fart at a time. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">At 10:30, I managed myself into the previous night's outfit, stuck a tentative foot onto the<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOKJVnY7A1bLrbao1tDIv7Av264dhAfhG1cKWCxTFaq4H3Gi0WA4V_6oBAuglhtgyjcR1iFTEC0W2v6YhYGMIhEQsVW4PnrFV42cdn2LqOmJuayHaT_vJ-iD0s0gOuqx_KIoyp2OVQ68/s1600/IMG_1434.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAOKJVnY7A1bLrbao1tDIv7Av264dhAfhG1cKWCxTFaq4H3Gi0WA4V_6oBAuglhtgyjcR1iFTEC0W2v6YhYGMIhEQsVW4PnrFV42cdn2LqOmJuayHaT_vJ-iD0s0gOuqx_KIoyp2OVQ68/s320/IMG_1434.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Signage in Killin</td></tr>
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wet ground<i>, </i>and ambled downtown for some breakfast, leaving all my gear behind and confident that my humble abode would retain its essence and fend off potential thieves. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd tried a full English breakfast <a href="http://greensaddle.blogspot.com/2019/07/a-full-english-breakfast.html">a couple of weeks ago </a>to a less-than-ideal result. But I'd figure I'd give the Scottish version a go. I ate everything I could immediately identify and was left with black pudding and haggis, both of which skeeve me out. I think if they were named something different, it'd be fine. But the version of pudding I'm familiar with is devoid of blood as a key ingredient, and "haggis" sounds like a disease. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KTURLP-yV59SGtuhW2rhwJ0FPMgJYFyCWdIWttNMdJTKvlfme98DunvPR_ndXTqD4pUTNzQPujECoQ6BX5mSptjM71-sWPni0xe3GY7BGsmF6Y0wcFuGHW60mUGNALhvcY7f6XXY-64/s1600/haggis.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="212" data-original-width="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KTURLP-yV59SGtuhW2rhwJ0FPMgJYFyCWdIWttNMdJTKvlfme98DunvPR_ndXTqD4pUTNzQPujECoQ6BX5mSptjM71-sWPni0xe3GY7BGsmF6Y0wcFuGHW60mUGNALhvcY7f6XXY-64/s1600/haggis.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Haggis (stock photo)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">On a side note, native Scots love to try to trick tourists into thinking that "a haggis" is an actual animal that roams the countryside terrorizing people. Their eyes light up should you be the one to ask them if a haggis exists in that form, each one embellishing the legend of the dangerous creature with his own far-fetched details. The only consistency is that the haggis has two very short legs on its left side, and two longer legs on its right, enabling it to run around Scottish hill sides in one direction quickly and efficiently as it hunts down prey. It's even more fun if you play into it for a bit and let the tale teller keep adding to his descriptions. <i>"Google it!" </i>David Macdonald had told me, <i>"You'll see!"</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Sure enough! <a href="https://medium.com/@janiekeddie/haggis-a-natural-history-d7d1a8a04422">It's on the internet! </a>It must be true! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, haggis wasn't too terrible. Had just one tiny taste. Still can't tell you about black pudding though. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I slowly and lazily packed just as I slowly and lazily cycled the 40 miles to Pitlochry, enjoying<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEina-A8wPjwCby7B8z7iRf84XwRynOFbzF_kGOGJe3cpKm3J_z9sxnlHghWGVb7fDGqljx1IvLYyKw_nnClXgXsZN3AYxsnOG4WcfK_ezYscqrCtABhyn15vORLDj0n7z1BpwK9_IyM_L0/s1600/IMG_1449+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEina-A8wPjwCby7B8z7iRf84XwRynOFbzF_kGOGJe3cpKm3J_z9sxnlHghWGVb7fDGqljx1IvLYyKw_nnClXgXsZN3AYxsnOG4WcfK_ezYscqrCtABhyn15vORLDj0n7z1BpwK9_IyM_L0/s200/IMG_1449+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scene from Today's Ride</td></tr>
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the ride along the entire eastern length of Loch Tay and noting the many spots where it would've been excellent to wild camp should I have moved on further the previous night. The rain had stopped, but it was another jacket-off / jacket-on / jacket-off type day as someone had turned the air conditioning back on and a mystical grayness hung in the sky. Waterfalls. Lochs. Woods. Repeat. It may seem redundant on the outset, but it's not at all. It's wonderful. And with all the curves in the road, there's always a bit of mystery to keep the mind engaged. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgHESdTCVBADYxiusPOhgOGGN0sdvPuJXMXy0PRVeFk3xKl4UNYuppqUP_J6mV0SHTiejClRGMKOoclYF7I7GtIi8kVbJsfFam4PcsNYe3Sfp_kolSC2hpa09sdSTpPMw7SQsX5Rb2cOU/s1600/IMG_1451+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgHESdTCVBADYxiusPOhgOGGN0sdvPuJXMXy0PRVeFk3xKl4UNYuppqUP_J6mV0SHTiejClRGMKOoclYF7I7GtIi8kVbJsfFam4PcsNYe3Sfp_kolSC2hpa09sdSTpPMw7SQsX5Rb2cOU/s200/IMG_1451+3.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Crannog that I'm sure is worth touring...</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">At one point, I was passing a strange looking village of sorts. The sign out front read <a href="https://www.crannog.co.uk/">The Scottish Crannog Centre</a>, and I was overcome with curiosity. I paid the steep £10 entry fee and poked around for a bit. It was full of craftsmen/women dressed in traditional garb celebrating Scottish ancestry and the Iron Age, each demonstrating a different trade. Ancient cooking, spoon carving, knife-making... and.. erm... other stuff. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikscqmqedhVlelOT2aa_5dy0mLDliBXHLrdp993Bbjmo31lJ9mDdlq_2uzIsAf-FlDyNgxo2MGLfRrpT6ZRhp4a6ecdv2SRxAsRfh1KqYp_AhPD3Hxoh4qN7k8daP6ZtsvP0YLRsgpzU/s1600/IMG_1454.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikscqmqedhVlelOT2aa_5dy0mLDliBXHLrdp993Bbjmo31lJ9mDdlq_2uzIsAf-FlDyNgxo2MGLfRrpT6ZRhp4a6ecdv2SRxAsRfh1KqYp_AhPD3Hxoh4qN7k8daP6ZtsvP0YLRsgpzU/s320/IMG_1454.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Knife-making demonstration</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">It reminded me of Museum Village in Monroe, New York... except it was interesting. Being the world's worst tourist, I skipped the tour of the actual crannog (an ancient loch dwelling), passed through the tiny museum portion, and snapped a few pics of the demonstrations. I figure that stop cost me approximately £1 per minute. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeO7kSkKMFwUdXP8GgQzxaQ5dfaFrspMOImbtQl-pR5khZV01otKLZd27FL0dW8nk1TMMnso85Y4D7yR3oubxTrItSSDYl2ksoRjh_nt_cx540OBR7d3wPAMFpRiD8TM_Pg7KmnkmVY28/s1600/IMG_1455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeO7kSkKMFwUdXP8GgQzxaQ5dfaFrspMOImbtQl-pR5khZV01otKLZd27FL0dW8nk1TMMnso85Y4D7yR3oubxTrItSSDYl2ksoRjh_nt_cx540OBR7d3wPAMFpRiD8TM_Pg7KmnkmVY28/s200/IMG_1455.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Southern tip of Loch Tay</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a solitary ride from there, circumnavigating the southern tip of Loch Tay and disappearing into the woods as I was introduced to the Highlands. Towns are noticably further apart, and the population is thinner. Though I was on the road for much of it, I encountered little traffic. I popped in my earbuds and let Apple Music's Americana playlist accompany me the rest of the way into Pitlochry, a trendy (surprisingly busy) Victorian Era village in the Tummel Valley. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">One thing that I've found disappointing since I've reached Scotland is that each of the towns<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXSLIyqoerOWdAEbEjVxIaErFSsEiYzcFbwG36cT1o7q6-E0gQFxs28OZ8LWoQxfZRDjEbVdZBt_WGxgBO0nwDn-zv01e6_tKGKNc7CvjbJJrTOp6IoTf5sbSXshJ6n9NvvBsAyFQGFVU/s1600/IMG_1468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXSLIyqoerOWdAEbEjVxIaErFSsEiYzcFbwG36cT1o7q6-E0gQFxs28OZ8LWoQxfZRDjEbVdZBt_WGxgBO0nwDn-zv01e6_tKGKNc7CvjbJJrTOp6IoTf5sbSXshJ6n9NvvBsAyFQGFVU/s320/IMG_1468.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Musicians entertain the tourists</td></tr>
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my guide has me staying in is heavily touristed. I suppose it's only natural, but it's becoming a frequently disappointing ending to each day. In small towns, it's easy to strike up conversations with locals and get a flavor of the area. In these? You're just another tourist. Thanks for stopping by. Show me your wallet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Had I known this ahead of time, I may have tried to stay overnight in some of the tiny in-between towns, but honestly... have you ever heard of Pitlochry? Callander? Killin? Balloch? Unless you've actually been on a similar tour or did some serious nerding-out while studying for the Geography Bee in middle school, I'm guessing not. They all sound like small towns to me.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAq9b_pFaRG-XctMyut3P_mxsHOwJJ1YW0jbvhwNSjAAckNsRHKQljmkmhOP_JxY5WQ_gJBwnTPsJ4IjFWloBxjh7icGTLf-dMAg_jdlEgPCnAYWIDy1dqZQYaWSN4u9H9Hk1f7emGVt0/s1600/IMG_1463.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAq9b_pFaRG-XctMyut3P_mxsHOwJJ1YW0jbvhwNSjAAckNsRHKQljmkmhOP_JxY5WQ_gJBwnTPsJ4IjFWloBxjh7icGTLf-dMAg_jdlEgPCnAYWIDy1dqZQYaWSN4u9H9Hk1f7emGVt0/s320/IMG_1463.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY<br /><br /><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">RYAN WATTERSON!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">CHEERS!</span><br />CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=vEmLZPPKs-wwRHAj2w3RozAhKcbWQ0h6tDP6x-zxtAXBwjY_-tfrG6zPcOL-i5PsDgfrH0&country.x=US&locale.x=US">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER.<br /><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">The rain had started back up with a vengeance as soon as I reached the night's accommodations, and I kept largely to myself, even though my bunkmate, Gerry, desperately wanted to discuss American gun violence after sharing the dreadful news of back-to-back shootings that I'd been blissfully unaware of. I skirted the topic, and instead enjoyed the sounds of a couple fiddlers and an accordion at the pub next door before calling it a night.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">I figured there was plenty of time to talk with Gerry in the morning. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">No vocal cords necessary. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">P.S. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>You gotta love a town that's willing to poke fun at itself on its own government issued sign.</i></span></div>
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<i>Yes. It lived up to its name. </i></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-15840323483054111392019-08-04T03:44:00.000-07:002019-08-04T04:08:47.228-07:00Killin Time<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 23 (Callander to Killin)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 9 mph </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 24.8 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 1019.8 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 1361.5 ; 47,834.9 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Moderate</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcaV9cp0boJ4hrFzP69y_syobTWpvRK5KdpoK3IqKD2k-0da9deTVV2ulqP_9Iqoz1OdgQW4QwFnmlpXOz1S_XOCHDC4ottFyBtjHuZoOE1G6apdLHlgfOut9f4W9E7CDb1-OjadVGUX4/s1600/IMG_1420+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcaV9cp0boJ4hrFzP69y_syobTWpvRK5KdpoK3IqKD2k-0da9deTVV2ulqP_9Iqoz1OdgQW4QwFnmlpXOz1S_XOCHDC4ottFyBtjHuZoOE1G6apdLHlgfOut9f4W9E7CDb1-OjadVGUX4/s400/IMG_1420+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skeleton on a Bicycle outside a Diner</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">About eight miles into today's short trip, I stopped at a bench to take in the stunning view of<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzK5qzvBJ-sDj27lrh4A-5wtrboJP9wVhyOxVw8ikvGnVTAfTZe9dsBKh_4lptADkqtXUcNWCQS0lwV2e0G8MzZNd0-RcDXfGkNLYMna6BhXxLca3lTu8J4syDEr0I6My6_8Xjp5xP-aw/s1600/IMG_E1425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzK5qzvBJ-sDj27lrh4A-5wtrboJP9wVhyOxVw8ikvGnVTAfTZe9dsBKh_4lptADkqtXUcNWCQS0lwV2e0G8MzZNd0-RcDXfGkNLYMna6BhXxLca3lTu8J4syDEr0I6My6_8Xjp5xP-aw/s320/IMG_E1425.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loch Lubnaig in the distance</td></tr>
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Loch Lubnaig and its surrounding hills. Like yesterday, the climb was well worth it, and the bench was demanding some butt time. It was peaceful, but only for a moment or two. From a distance, I saw a lady quickly walking towards me. She looked nervous, and was cradling something that looked like a dirty white-haired dog. I thought for sure she needed veterinary assistance, and I was ready to break out a miniature roll of gauze and my set of Allen wrenches. That's pretty much all you need to fix anything. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Did you notice a group of people walk by?" she called. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I told her I hadn't. I was still unable to determine what she was holding. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She rushed over with large steps to where I was sitting and laid down her charge. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mushrooms. Lots of mushrooms. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFxEf65aUqtnLb8eVpL2_qkMPyLqPlRll1266BRUp_YlviWMNeOgkq5_nAo8eYMsGh3PSs272P18XH-_BBhCzCWbUjbVSPR9nl6xngBmg4lgDADze6Cvr50wOn63x0lOpQpiVXn2dhT_g/s1600/IMG_1426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFxEf65aUqtnLb8eVpL2_qkMPyLqPlRll1266BRUp_YlviWMNeOgkq5_nAo8eYMsGh3PSs272P18XH-_BBhCzCWbUjbVSPR9nl6xngBmg4lgDADze6Cvr50wOn63x0lOpQpiVXn2dhT_g/s320/IMG_1426.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Babysitting mushrooms</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She gingerly placed each one on the bench beside me in a perfect row. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Can you watch these for me while I go off into these woods?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Of course!" I agreed. I mean, how often does one get the chance to babysit fungi? I didn't know if she needed to take a squat or what she was doing... but she was scampering with fury through the forest behind me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For the next five minutes, I tried to come up with several different plans as to what my course of action would be should someone or something try to come between me and the mushrooms. I hadn't packed any pepper spray, and I was fresh out of battle axes. I decided I would just point an angry finger at the offender and loudly say "No! Those aren't your mushrooms!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She eventually returned to the bench with another armload of 'shrooms, looking utterly confused as to how to merge the two caches into one manageable mass. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I suggested she use a bag. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmcVP8aXyj5MiDU6iL1c8Uh9WRybkk6CW8iTs1-tWb3VqBouEz72RgQDiiEFuUwY7YQQxINPf2CE2UwcuKwtiAbh4kexUJtXyhlQOymO3A16VG-sW1caBP7j2td_5d5M0ibeX_HUWeTXQ/s1600/IMG_1424+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmcVP8aXyj5MiDU6iL1c8Uh9WRybkk6CW8iTs1-tWb3VqBouEz72RgQDiiEFuUwY7YQQxINPf2CE2UwcuKwtiAbh4kexUJtXyhlQOymO3A16VG-sW1caBP7j2td_5d5M0ibeX_HUWeTXQ/s320/IMG_1424+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scenery from today's ride</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Her name was Lisa, and she was part of the Clyde and Argyle Fungi Group ("You can find us on Facebook!") whose mission (I think) is to identify growth zones for different types of fungi in the area. She gave me a super quick lesson on which ones were edible before advising me never to eat any of them. And then she was off, in search of the rest of her group who had the proper carrying vessels. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I didn't have the heart to tell her she dropped a few in her haste. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I also set off, and about a quarter mile later saw a group of people on the side of the road enjoying lunch. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Are you all by any chance collecting mushrooms?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Yes," one said. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I knew it. They looked like mushroom people. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJZvN3Py65JMUbc4DAnaEFjjx7CeK76mfJ_AIWztLmN3fV3WyDzNV2-XDJp22OuUqDnzjenfDEmfn6Ks7GgYij40ZgNaUiZpatrK5KvA99Vtahd9k7CKnIVkJx1CYMAUG-5SXpUeV2Nw/s1600/IMG_E1430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbJZvN3Py65JMUbc4DAnaEFjjx7CeK76mfJ_AIWztLmN3fV3WyDzNV2-XDJp22OuUqDnzjenfDEmfn6Ks7GgYij40ZgNaUiZpatrK5KvA99Vtahd9k7CKnIVkJx1CYMAUG-5SXpUeV2Nw/s320/IMG_E1430.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cycling along an old railway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"There's a lady named Lisa who just went that way with a gold mine!" Nobody moved, and I got the distinct feeling the group was trying to ditch Lisa, begging the question <i>How strange does a person have to be in order to be shunned by a fungus forum? </i>"I can cycle back and tell her you're over here."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I'll get her," a man finally said with resignation. I was glad. I felt like a good babysitter. Lisa's mushrooms would be safe. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The rest of the ride was nearly as stunning as yesterday's as I climbed along an old railway and eventually descended into the town of Killin, where families were splashing in the Dochart Falls and enjoying the rare sunny (and somewhat hot!) day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But a new problem arose for me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Boredom. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I fully appreciate what my guide is doing: It's slowly taking cyclists through the best of what <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPmLcOwmNgCcPHfqDHEkluBLBcTcMwHDMnuPReUgVB5W-mQym6HWeNDa1T6LgeXEA5NE-baNhyphenhyphenVmzpNqCXpSCGFkEZa5Oa1h_bnL58PD5sWhDtXyF5B0aM-d5RDkaMGuyziDVijfY7Pc/s1600/IMG_E1433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnPmLcOwmNgCcPHfqDHEkluBLBcTcMwHDMnuPReUgVB5W-mQym6HWeNDa1T6LgeXEA5NE-baNhyphenhyphenVmzpNqCXpSCGFkEZa5Oa1h_bnL58PD5sWhDtXyF5B0aM-d5RDkaMGuyziDVijfY7Pc/s320/IMG_E1433.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Dochart Falls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Scotland has to offer and encouraging them to stop and enjoy. But I'd only been a few hours on the bike, and was unsure of what to do after I cycled through the town and enjoyed the view of the falls. I mean, how many hours can one stare at the same thing?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm rarely bored on a bicycle. Maybe once or twice during the Trans America trip, and perhaps once on this year's ride into Abington, but that's it. Too much time off the bike is when boredom starts. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With hours to kill before nightfall, I tried to figure out a way to be productive. So I sat in a pub and did something I've never done before: I planned the rest of the trip, securing stays at hostels and campsites, and buying the train tickets necessary to get to Edinburgh after finishing. I even tried to get the appropriate bicycle reservations for the train (no luck). That kept me busy for some time. But after it was done, the boredom crept back. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had no plans for the night other than to set up camp somewhere in the woods. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Wild Camping," as it's called, refers to camping on land that is not specifically designated for that purpose. Unlike England, it's legal in Scotland. The extremely vague law essentially reads <i>Camp wherever you'd like... just don't be a dick about it. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7sogseu9H0NBaC15cMy84zb-NNdDUBrkRW6bOJdNSHRb-QLUHyvY6KF2FhdJNN5KNTebYlQGj4tx9z7SxwSFmBMy5Cglwa0FQ9p-UHn6gyOOd7amL0rihPA4nd3W4L3POvOlrjtGKQ0/s1600/IMG_1437+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq7sogseu9H0NBaC15cMy84zb-NNdDUBrkRW6bOJdNSHRb-QLUHyvY6KF2FhdJNN5KNTebYlQGj4tx9z7SxwSFmBMy5Cglwa0FQ9p-UHn6gyOOd7amL0rihPA4nd3W4L3POvOlrjtGKQ0/s320/IMG_1437+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wild Camping in Killin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Can you camp on someone's private property? Yes. Kind of. As long as it doesn't look like private property. And try to ask the owner's permission if you can find the owner. But if you can't, then go ahead anyway. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Can you camp in parks? Sure. Just try to stay hidden. No one wants to see you camping. Pretend you're not there. If we both cover our eyes, we can't see one another.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Can you start a fire? We'd prefer you didn't. But if you must, then go ahead. But please don't. We're asking nicely. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMrjDQOM-qs9E8mC-8Qq4dOAfAWzhKwb47saMup-OSKXsoBjiXdmtgIAx2Hn7Ljy8v84y-Jx597I3rz8-2Wrr3mm21JfMdgDrm25EjzrJ2vvojllL2APqXvA30qMyOrY70O3NiIh1Z9jU/s1600/IMG_1436+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMrjDQOM-qs9E8mC-8Qq4dOAfAWzhKwb47saMup-OSKXsoBjiXdmtgIAx2Hn7Ljy8v84y-Jx597I3rz8-2Wrr3mm21JfMdgDrm25EjzrJ2vvojllL2APqXvA30qMyOrY70O3NiIh1Z9jU/s200/IMG_1436+%25281%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't do it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This law is somewhat controversial as people, of course, abuse it. The spot that I found just 500 feet out of town was perfect. Right beside a talkative stream and somewhat camouflaged under the tree cover. But someone else had been here before me, and had left a trove of beer bottles behind. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's like that one student who can't handle being trusted to have a cell phone out during class, so the teacher has to change the rule and demand everybody keep them in their backpacks. A handful of assholes ruin it for everybody. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But for tonight? I'm good. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbPkUOD8c1LXI3vaNOgjHRVemWxuF_ty_ml6q5GcgI-i7TV9mVM7o3W8xzHsdduZ2Kl0S2vl5Dx3nLeRca_cqUYPNHlQCYV4z7IFmyE8zAq3zAhREw1xqcHohxUeK3Vtyf7uwfio1xIk/s1600/IMG_1444+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlbPkUOD8c1LXI3vaNOgjHRVemWxuF_ty_ml6q5GcgI-i7TV9mVM7o3W8xzHsdduZ2Kl0S2vl5Dx3nLeRca_cqUYPNHlQCYV4z7IFmyE8zAq3zAhREw1xqcHohxUeK3Vtyf7uwfio1xIk/s320/IMG_1444+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David, Alison, and Me. Hard to take pics with candles in<br />
the background. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I was still within walking distance of the pub, where I met David and Alison Macdonald (and their dog Roxy). We enjoyed one another's company while listening to the music of Scott Macdonald (the "MAC" section of Scotland's phone book must be intense). Though it was still early on a Saturday night, the crowd dwindled to a handful hours before closing time, and eventually Scott was singing to just four of us. A quiet night, but I was no longer bored. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YZSSgmQp9qoe3o6y5nUOiOm8X_HITfOh-dcL6voqPGDKpbP9d7SNT029VYoEH4whX7-txOaqvNDb4fh1PttBz80JIP3T1rHag7iOz1-rXIzYKcMioPTUeOObL7StdZ1Fzv8raxw6N0M/s1600/IMG_1435.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YZSSgmQp9qoe3o6y5nUOiOm8X_HITfOh-dcL6voqPGDKpbP9d7SNT029VYoEH4whX7-txOaqvNDb4fh1PttBz80JIP3T1rHag7iOz1-rXIzYKcMioPTUeOObL7StdZ1Fzv8raxw6N0M/s320/IMG_1435.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">DOUG MILLER!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I'm trying to avoid an "It's Miller Time" joke.</span><br />
CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=Lm2SFZ8OOHAshmjES8zpboXdbfETbVktk7UrBG2dXlChmVG6XPJZPuqtE8H7Fcox68721G&country.x=US&locale.x=US">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER<br />
<br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Back to the campsite in the dark, using my phone's flashlight to find the tiny footpath to my tent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And carefully sidestepping any mushrooms. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">P.S. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>"Honey! I'm going to drop Tommy off at the Killin Nursery!"</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>"Isn't that a bit drastic? I know he's in his terrible two stage, but have we explored other options?"</i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-55340044176734398922019-08-03T02:34:00.001-07:002019-08-03T04:14:32.878-07:00Keeping it Clean<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 21 (Glasgow to Balloch) and Day: 22 (Balloch to Callander)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 11.5 mph (Day 21) / 9 mph (Day 22)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 35.6 miles (Day 21) / 37.6 miles (Day 22)</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 995 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 1236.9 (Day 21) 2906.8 (Day 22) ; 46473.4 total</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Purple Bicycle Fixed in Place in Front of Callander Cathedral</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">One of the stupidest books I’ve ever read is a true story called <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23316.Round_Ireland_with_a_Fridge?ac=1&from_search=true">Round Ireland with a Fridge</a></i>, by Tony Hawks. I don’t know where I came across a copy of it. I think someone left it behind on an airplane, or perhaps it was in a doctor’s waiting room. My only regret is that I read the whole thing (it was later made into an <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1440755/?ref_=nv_sr_1?ref_=nv_sr_1">unwatchable movie</a>). The title gives away most of the plot: on a drunken bet, the hero sets out to hitchhike around Ireland with a mini-fridge in tow. It was a £100 bet. And Hawks spent £130 on the fridge itself. While it has a quirky premise, it’s poorly written (and I read this way back when I thought the prose of James Patterson was sublime), devoid of meaningful content, and just plain dumb.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I highly recommend it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My location</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hawks’ mission was only slightly more stupid than that of Pad, Jeremy, and Sean, an Irish trio that I met in the centre of Balloch after the day's ride.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Though, in my opinion, Balloch is not a town that deserves special attention, it’s at the southern tip of Loch Lomond, and naturally draws tourists setting out on all different types of exploration throughout Trossachs National Park.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> These three were certainly prepared for some sort of quest.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“What are the brooms for?” I asked. Each of the three hikers had his own newly purchased janitorial broom. One had a plastic fork behind his ear. And another carried a large blank canvas.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">They stared at me as if they’d never before heard the adage ‘<i>There’s no such thing as a stupid question.’</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“They’re for sweeping,” one finally said. <i>Duh!</i></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMxUXfOceuVD0UUw84m24SOkJRURuf9cMWmV-ct4f5DKCa-MyM7E00ZQG88Y75xbhapH57mrlLgfzDkisXCPQfznMcOOwzVgoWSHdj7YRLd294mZAffJas6-LT4cXn57xoIKmp0rWwMM/s1600/IMG_1391.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaMxUXfOceuVD0UUw84m24SOkJRURuf9cMWmV-ct4f5DKCa-MyM7E00ZQG88Y75xbhapH57mrlLgfzDkisXCPQfznMcOOwzVgoWSHdj7YRLd294mZAffJas6-LT4cXn57xoIKmp0rWwMM/s320/IMG_1391.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pad, Jeremy, and Sean... on a mission of sorts.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I looked at them. They looked at me. Then the three burst into a haphazardly choreographed sweep session, clearing the clean sidewalk of, well… nothing. I waited until it was over. All three were beaming with pride.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“No seriously, what are the brooms for?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“They’re for sweeping!” another shouted. They repeated their dance.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">This went on for a few more minutes, and I found it remarkable that they were able to keep up the same routine every time I asked about the purpose of the brooms. Finally, I capitulated. The brooms were for sweeping. Their goal was to hike throughout Loch Lomond… and sweep the very well-maintained trails.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“What if there’s a stray leaf on the ground?” Pad asked.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I’ll sweep it away!” Jeremey responded, showing off his skills.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“A bit of dirt?”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The canvas isn't blank anymore</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Gone!” Sean shouted, violently fending off imaginary dust.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Giving up on the brooms, I asked about the rather large blank canvas in tote. They didn’t seem to know what that was for. But they did ask me to scribble a bit of graffiti on it. And I obliged.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The plastic fork behind Jeremy’s ear was the only thing that made a bit of sense to me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The three suddenly realized they had a bus to catch and fled with their ridiculous accoutrements in tow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Go figure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The ride to Balloch from Glasgow was absurdly short and easy. It probably should've been rolled into another stage, but my guidebook suggested taking advantage of the day and boarding a boat cruise to tour around the famed Loch Lomond. By the time I got there, the last of the cruises was set to depart in an hour, and I was tempted. I figured I'd secure lodging, have a quick lunch, and sail away!</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ride through Balloch Castle Country Park</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">To pull that off, however, one needs to plan ahead just a wee bit. Not my forte. While the small town is jam-packed with B&Bs, most of them were entirely booked. The ones that weren't wanted a small fortune and an organ donation for a night's rest. Even the local campground was reserved for glampers only, and they scoffed at the idea of a smelly guy in a tent on their grounds. I gave up on the cruise, and instead opted to stay at a campground five miles away, which appeared to be located lakeside. As I pedaled there through the beautiful Balloch Castle Country Park, I imagined myself sitting in my tent as the sun set, occasionally sipping a brew and writing tear-inducing poetry with the shimmering waters of Loch in my peripheral. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My View of Loch Lomond</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">No such luck. Most of the ride there was along a busy, narrow (and hilly!) road. When I eventually found the site, it was a big let down. No lake. Just other campers. Nowhere to charge devices. Dirty facilities. No small town nearby. And not so much as a picnic bench to take a seat. I set up my tent, but my choices were to either lay down in it (and fall asleep at 6 PM) or awkwardly stand next to it, and admire the view of the other tents. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">So I rode five miles back to Balloch. Hills. Traffic. Blah blah blah. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me, Caroline, and Billy</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">It would've been great to spend the rest of the night there, especially after befriending a few locals and a hilarious couple celebrating their 35th wedding anniversary. The thick accents- while often rendering their speech incomprehensible- only added to the fun. But at 11 PM I called it quits, put my faith in my taillight, and rode another five miles back to camp. Ironically, most of the day's ride (and certainly all of the climbing) came from the three trips back and forth to Camp Sucks-A-Lot.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The next morning I rode back to Balloch (yet again) to pick up my route. I could've followed Google Maps to the next town, but FOMO got the better of me. I didn't want to miss any portion of what my guide called "...one of the most scenic stages of the entire route."</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvyFcf89ten9GlgyXudcdZQBTfBfFytmJUOUNS2yjdp6cN-YQcMtXDga_cbUWkcKw0raJZTXmstwANDxb8dutrto_ZqvjXAPuDVetBJw7syiyilKjg-5XoWWhH5G1ElF1_OWJc5C4a5yo/s1600/IMG_1399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvyFcf89ten9GlgyXudcdZQBTfBfFytmJUOUNS2yjdp6cN-YQcMtXDga_cbUWkcKw0raJZTXmstwANDxb8dutrto_ZqvjXAPuDVetBJw7syiyilKjg-5XoWWhH5G1ElF1_OWJc5C4a5yo/s200/IMG_1399.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loch Lomond</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">And wow. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">From start to finish, it was incredible. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'm trying very hard to avoid using superlatives and saying something like "It's the most stunning ride I've ever been on." Since I typically live in the moment, it's hard to compare what I see in the present with what I've seen in the past. I mean, Utah was particularly amazing for sure. But this ride... I'm pretty sure it's one of the most stunning rides I've ever been on. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBx_wKAYM2d3IzDcIWxS_xjrCMiJukUBGRRHeXOBSrFU59fw9fUwf079WXEccsHfUBNBldHiubYACDKDbXP5gDAJ9jYor9NFZ-JU_K30PTHkTHacDfOP3tmvZtWoXpHsRFVRTN0rkdjRo/s1600/IMG_1415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBx_wKAYM2d3IzDcIWxS_xjrCMiJukUBGRRHeXOBSrFU59fw9fUwf079WXEccsHfUBNBldHiubYACDKDbXP5gDAJ9jYor9NFZ-JU_K30PTHkTHacDfOP3tmvZtWoXpHsRFVRTN0rkdjRo/s200/IMG_1415.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of many views that<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Climbs were challenging, fun, and seriously rewarding as they led to top notch views of the Trossachs and Loch Lomond. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I toured through the lovely towns of Drymen, Gatmore, and Aberfoyle, renowned for its wool production. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtz2d4AOcFYh-Mrbs-XLvzaA8YMftRkn9wkxLxbzI5NAx2mBHhpdAIbB23K4Ei9r9jE68H3MOQKRD4dJVj2uMh6y6MNR-ZAbNvtgQsBpT2XsZWB2oviyqAB8F5hs_xb1_22TgEs7dQhBE/s1600/IMG_1408.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtz2d4AOcFYh-Mrbs-XLvzaA8YMftRkn9wkxLxbzI5NAx2mBHhpdAIbB23K4Ei9r9jE68H3MOQKRD4dJVj2uMh6y6MNR-ZAbNvtgQsBpT2XsZWB2oviyqAB8F5hs_xb1_22TgEs7dQhBE/s320/IMG_1408.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Queen Elizabeth Forest</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Then up a steep climb through Queen Elizabeth Forest Park, thick with tall trees and rife with tiny waterfalls. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I assume that the rough paths and tricky terrain deter a lot of tourists from venturing too deep, so it felt like I had the place all to myself. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9D-zYmQN8Rc-b8JWTH28KtSOmOZIrNeRgnmULSeoLbdlQVyWRDCekKTIaBA0vhEmwR7UPbw7NSXpW4RRcDc8f3u4spMbDbjsM3ZArJIm3KIzRcZHy8JSRwhQdduAVRsCDulS-9OEElnk/s1600/IMG_1417+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9D-zYmQN8Rc-b8JWTH28KtSOmOZIrNeRgnmULSeoLbdlQVyWRDCekKTIaBA0vhEmwR7UPbw7NSXpW4RRcDc8f3u4spMbDbjsM3ZArJIm3KIzRcZHy8JSRwhQdduAVRsCDulS-9OEElnk/s320/IMG_1417+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Along Loch Venachar</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">An easy ride along Loch Venachar saw me into the town of Callander, nestled amongst hills on the east side of Trossachs Park. The sun came out, and I realized that this was my first rain-free day in Scotland, which made me appreciate even more that I had <a href="http://greensaddle.blogspot.com/2019/07/gettin-ugly-out.html">gotten the ugly out of the way</a> all at once in the trip to Abington. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I hardly talked with anyone- there were no quirky characters, and I only came across a handful of touring cyclists.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimdz5MW6WIhv5Vc3zA7zA6cBN6Nfyswabh-WGaKpopoklce-J7oLZK9-hIhsOMkbs9CB1KTiSjTWVAfXN4_j-AY-2VQxxChg47TxQpSTq6uA5UQKaOf9Q8l1BkSZwygvVZPCm119oaaJs/s1600/IMG_1421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimdz5MW6WIhv5Vc3zA7zA6cBN6Nfyswabh-WGaKpopoklce-J7oLZK9-hIhsOMkbs9CB1KTiSjTWVAfXN4_j-AY-2VQxxChg47TxQpSTq6uA5UQKaOf9Q8l1BkSZwygvVZPCm119oaaJs/s320/IMG_1421.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY:<br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">HOLLY SHADER!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">TO SPONSOR A BEER... CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=g25UtnxVvnpCfiZ5RyCO4HH_W_1Zle9Byre7yj4ORWYLt6DkJkQ_JAMIjkbIfTNQ1qwDGm&fromUL=true">HERE</a>!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">But this wasn't the kind of day that called for company. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The day spoke for itself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">There sure as hell wasn't anything that three Irish guys with brooms needed to sweep away. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">P.S. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>I failed to read the camp rules in a timely fashion.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>After reading rule #5 at midnight, it was awkward to have to wake everyone up at the campground in order to introduce myself.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMS48AwnFuczm2jWruv0PklqVY47RXHz-v2rQLAnjR6ZN5xiT01bmSMip1CCTOA4fcoK4ZO-0EVTomfkLMVI4vkXnwzfbeNN6i9O9aV6wOEMaFICJ13y-dtVdqEL9yKgH95hgLNCNNMhg/s1600/IMG_1398.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMS48AwnFuczm2jWruv0PklqVY47RXHz-v2rQLAnjR6ZN5xiT01bmSMip1CCTOA4fcoK4ZO-0EVTomfkLMVI4vkXnwzfbeNN6i9O9aV6wOEMaFICJ13y-dtVdqEL9yKgH95hgLNCNNMhg/s400/IMG_1398.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Also... rule #11 isn't a rule. Just sayin'.</span></i></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-70862783216255875892019-08-01T03:28:00.002-07:002019-08-02T04:05:09.479-07:00I Prefer the Mud<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 20 (Abington to Glasgow) </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 9.5 mph</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 50.1 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 921.8 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2,109.6 ; 42,329.7 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Relatively easy</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUwISVqxP_OS7naZ7mQO91LMZ40gQYf9gRRnqHeROX6Aa1kcHqHGhpuSmCEaxwNEVthCmtBtiMndli12xV2Ivmw_GyoEVIsYS82YQT1_scgIxjgq9Z__x3WD4E5kO73WkoL3XdDixztk/s1600/IMG_1366+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGUwISVqxP_OS7naZ7mQO91LMZ40gQYf9gRRnqHeROX6Aa1kcHqHGhpuSmCEaxwNEVthCmtBtiMndli12xV2Ivmw_GyoEVIsYS82YQT1_scgIxjgq9Z__x3WD4E5kO73WkoL3XdDixztk/s400/IMG_1366+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of many artistically designed markers on the National Cycle Network</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"You researched the weather of Scotland before you set out, right?" Kevin asked.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Of course," I lied. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I was five miles into the day, and had already tried every permutation of outfit that I'm </span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxXHW4I4ry5GO6vvIDYrrWQEQj2ndanA-JKAWKUmLQPaJv_kR0zPAlzR6qauUf87Io1EkKEzdwpX2G_zItYWXOwhx0KKb6RTLV5Z-BPwVxSfzw6A9oQD6bzp4MzVrMP4DUXUpN9Bf4zcU/s1600/IMG_1355+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxXHW4I4ry5GO6vvIDYrrWQEQj2ndanA-JKAWKUmLQPaJv_kR0zPAlzR6qauUf87Io1EkKEzdwpX2G_zItYWXOwhx0KKb6RTLV5Z-BPwVxSfzw6A9oQD6bzp4MzVrMP4DUXUpN9Bf4zcU/s320/IMG_1355+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someone Else: "I did the running of the bulls in Pamplona!"<br />
Me: "I did the running of the sheep in Abington!"</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">carrying. Pants and cycling coat seemed just right for the first two hundred feet. But it was suddenly hot. The pants became shorts and I shed the coat. One hundred feet later, the rain started. Lightweight rain jacket this time, and may as well put those pants back on, but it was just a quick shower. I settled on the jacket (which has all the breathability of a Hefty garbage bag) and shorts.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-weight: normal;">Luckily, Kevin caught up with me after all of these costume changes, so it wasn't entirely embarrassing, though the sheep of Scotland certainly got a show. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfgrD4XegUYaKLS7GJTadnjzdVKd1DUH_HgG9aCmusMOd5LLsWQoDlGXB9qe1iFXYI0sATCYeFpkpGpRVj_xnAjQ7QL7RiMNKv-EuolIDofHvkGXVI3bGMrlrM5orOeH2u6Mvi1NkE8k/s1600/IMG_1357+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXfgrD4XegUYaKLS7GJTadnjzdVKd1DUH_HgG9aCmusMOd5LLsWQoDlGXB9qe1iFXYI0sATCYeFpkpGpRVj_xnAjQ7QL7RiMNKv-EuolIDofHvkGXVI3bGMrlrM5orOeH2u6Mvi1NkE8k/s200/IMG_1357+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kevin Scot, cycle partner of the day</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Like Mark Warren from yesterday, Kevin Scot ("With one 'T'!") is powering through this trip, aiming to complete it in thirteen days while his family travels ahead of him and sets up camp. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'm at the point where I never quite know how to answer when a cyclist asks me "What day are you on?" Should I be embarrassed or proud that I'm taking my time? I answer the question, but feel a need to provide a rationale quickly afterward. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"[insert day number here]...but I'm following the Sustrans indirect route." So was Mark Warren. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"[insert day number here]...but I took some self-guide guided detours to visit friends." But I was still traveling north. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"[insert day number here]...but both my legs are prosthetic." Too fact-checkable. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKASArUZ4c5pWMGjlz_mH0B4ksn_AZbmELwCbcE2WtlI8414mBm84F66vmwkTRJ3dP-8fQqrkwHPT-rynUiJFuPhxHojc7_xaek7pKvPvnAL5Y87Co0G2f9XNbY4fscyUkB26rnp5zfc/s1600/IMG_1359+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrKASArUZ4c5pWMGjlz_mH0B4ksn_AZbmELwCbcE2WtlI8414mBm84F66vmwkTRJ3dP-8fQqrkwHPT-rynUiJFuPhxHojc7_xaek7pKvPvnAL5Y87Co0G2f9XNbY4fscyUkB26rnp5zfc/s320/IMG_1359+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selfie with Kevin</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Part of me knows that no one else really cares... it's just a question for conversation's sake. But still. I feel like I'd be the last kid picked in gym class to join the team.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Kevin certainly didn't care. He was nearing his fiftieth mile of the day and didn't mind a breather. He slowed his pace down a bit, I kicked it up a notch, and we had a fine fifteen mile cycle together. It wasn't the breakneck pace set by <a href="http://greensaddle.blogspot.com/2019/07/marking-time.html">Mark Cole</a>, nor was it the casual cycle with <a href="http://greensaddle.blogspot.com/2019/07/all-play-and-no-work.html">Teresa Morris</a>. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5tNcSWrft87beFxrdaQSAc_hRg_tvgVPyu4jqmXyeccbccddD1ZT1-6b516M2hc5yMA1-oWevQ5ipvmH9nuqGH1C_IJnXvuWTlyDbuM6xEu6VZut-9tuYI1j_eLDBorDMIOp4WIxqO6E/s1600/IMG_1363+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5tNcSWrft87beFxrdaQSAc_hRg_tvgVPyu4jqmXyeccbccddD1ZT1-6b516M2hc5yMA1-oWevQ5ipvmH9nuqGH1C_IJnXvuWTlyDbuM6xEu6VZut-9tuYI1j_eLDBorDMIOp4WIxqO6E/s200/IMG_1363+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scenery from today's ride</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He explained the four different fronts that collide in Scotland on a daily basis, each one struggling to be the winner in order to determine the weather. Today, the winner was the watery front, whichever one that is. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, though I'd hate to label the spitting rain as "sun-showers" since that has too positive a connotation. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnX7zvHjkRQ-d8qiJXXBakls9rcK-24RNaLzCtKgHMMZSZfl4wCZR0umpZsIZoO9rQMZA14lPb93p357h47hcx_w0OtcW5F3AuVYhBB4_8Glki9jwKYDiv2_qLKC1nL1BvYXlEhIyO_dw/s1600/IMG_1345.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnX7zvHjkRQ-d8qiJXXBakls9rcK-24RNaLzCtKgHMMZSZfl4wCZR0umpZsIZoO9rQMZA14lPb93p357h47hcx_w0OtcW5F3AuVYhBB4_8Glki9jwKYDiv2_qLKC1nL1BvYXlEhIyO_dw/s200/IMG_1345.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More scenery from today's ride</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The weather's intensity increased after we parted ways, Kevin opting for the quicker route to Glasgow on a busy road, and me taking the advice of my guidebook onto country roads and quiet cycle paths. I swapped the jacket for the coat. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Compared with the ugliness of yesterday's ride, today was quite beautiful. It doesn't make sense. I'd assumed that as I got closer to a major city it would be more urban and icky. Not at all. My winding (and hilly!) path took me through well-maintained parks, humble suburbs, small towns, and wooded areas, slowly meandering its way to Glasgow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And although I <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0bFzOIXLvH8i7J0JpT2L0CauXto0WMME8wgcxpLNK0vm4m8_38EhGWlYMpJORoCbYobSOPBnASUo8GlmGfXcgvpIXSZmfmsqfuj9XOZX2gKHzQu87joKkFPfTuFerw6ImiV-bD24LoE/s1600/IMG_1368.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0bFzOIXLvH8i7J0JpT2L0CauXto0WMME8wgcxpLNK0vm4m8_38EhGWlYMpJORoCbYobSOPBnASUo8GlmGfXcgvpIXSZmfmsqfuj9XOZX2gKHzQu87joKkFPfTuFerw6ImiV-bD24LoE/s320/IMG_1368.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-fall picture. </td></tr>
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took my second (much more painful) fall of the trip after turning a corner and slipping in mud, I'm happy I took this route. I mean, sure the entire left half of my body was covered in filth... but I'm sure it gave me a rugged look. Like a cyclist who truly earned his pint at the end of the day. ("Took a little spill, did we?" the receptionist at the Glasgow Youth Hostel later said in place of "Hello.") </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As I crept closer to Scotland's largest city, I kept looking down at my mileage. I knew I was<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3uySINrT_vi12Jkmg8vDJqhSkvnnFu05VQWX37328dqIDOfm4vwoHqBj3wtu58zvMP3NMbWrHy25fcpP1gcgdtN_6ibxaNjze2TxZQw27Ru5Mhv5lGPPYkfI9Tn4mDKOLBEEoWQ_iqY/s1600/IMG_1365+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3uySINrT_vi12Jkmg8vDJqhSkvnnFu05VQWX37328dqIDOfm4vwoHqBj3wtu58zvMP3NMbWrHy25fcpP1gcgdtN_6ibxaNjze2TxZQw27Ru5Mhv5lGPPYkfI9Tn4mDKOLBEEoWQ_iqY/s320/IMG_1365+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three miles from the centre of Glasgow</td></tr>
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due to arrive at the bustling centre on my 48th mile, yet at mile 45 I couldn't hear anything other than the sounds of nature. At mile 47, it only appeared slightly more urban as I pedaled along a wide river walk. Still, where were all the people? Why can't I hear the honks of exasperated drivers?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was as if someone had pressed a mute button. Either that or the Zombie Apocalypse had finally arrived (luckily I had an air pump to fend them off and I was camouflaged in mud). Perhaps it was a fluke, but the I found the quietness of Glasgow downright eerie. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8iTWhYgpMlNA_NU_tc5E5ygI-FF8YXLXKL5M_J4NX0_Zjj37hMxls_oS49YUT36vbKsUwK2cnesdyGNrOqxftxngoAIl7y-KeSXg3WZv5ifx6AozOuhP97xKI8SH9gXIET_oqmX_nYw/s1600/IMG_1369+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8iTWhYgpMlNA_NU_tc5E5ygI-FF8YXLXKL5M_J4NX0_Zjj37hMxls_oS49YUT36vbKsUwK2cnesdyGNrOqxftxngoAIl7y-KeSXg3WZv5ifx6AozOuhP97xKI8SH9gXIET_oqmX_nYw/s320/IMG_1369+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WHERE ARE ALL THE PEOPLE?!?!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was going to explore the city centre before finding my hostel for the night, but was deterred when I saw a cyclist laying in the middle of the road I was going to turn down, moaning in pain. He'd clearly just been hit by a car. He was well attended by Good Samaritans, and there was nothing I could've done to further help- I would've just been in the way had I stopped- so I kept my head down and pedaled on, cringing as each of his howls punctured the city's silence. It's easy to forget how dangerous it is to cycle amongst cars. All it takes is one careless driver (and we've all been that careless driver at one time or another, haven't we?). One person texting. One person speeding up at a yellow light. One person who didn't get enough sleep. Man, have I been lucky. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had no desire to explore anymore once I found my way to the hostel. Instead, I found a <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lb9kIX64-oUScxLwKeVBtK1Q1EGcyfe4pvN0DxLtoeI9Ats9b1K4J6IFwu9tydfyS23gsYsxF63bCW72-k4zTrwLnAThgfs-5icCxL676f3Amz2Vfyu4wja0n7f9bhj7Hj0drGhgrJI/s1600/IMG_1375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lb9kIX64-oUScxLwKeVBtK1Q1EGcyfe4pvN0DxLtoeI9Ats9b1K4J6IFwu9tydfyS23gsYsxF63bCW72-k4zTrwLnAThgfs-5icCxL676f3Amz2Vfyu4wja0n7f9bhj7Hj0drGhgrJI/s320/IMG_1375.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">SARAH BARQUERO!</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">AND I FAILED TO MENTION YESTERDAY'S</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">BEER SPONSOR</span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">TARA KLINK!</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=2zQPW8MPqvLIQ1Hfdu-9cUphuEPsgg0gcbdlMQsY04XY22nGDmBv14oa_nGQkaMaKDE83m&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER!</span></td></tr>
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quick dinner, had a beer at a pub, and sampled a scotch whiskey </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">(read: did a shot) </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">with a local named Andrew, who sounded like Shrek on cocaine. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Looks like my guide suggests a mere twenty mile stage for tomorrow's ride with virtually no climbing. I'm fine with that. Hopefully it's on cycle paths away from traffic. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm fine with slipping in the mud. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">P.S.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Just when you thought you'd seen every flavor of potato chip...</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlyR1vk0VpZYQbyt7GKYKz8dSGPCXqQztd-4rmH3RJiwnhNy96kllWYi3GzTPJ76Zjb9hrw8qE1MuwKrQliMMokQk4LtCCkRTHBQG-35F2MLKoTuxt5sv_fBhfTFrBWPAlGoghw8s2pX8/s1600/IMG_1376+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlyR1vk0VpZYQbyt7GKYKz8dSGPCXqQztd-4rmH3RJiwnhNy96kllWYi3GzTPJ76Zjb9hrw8qE1MuwKrQliMMokQk4LtCCkRTHBQG-35F2MLKoTuxt5sv_fBhfTFrBWPAlGoghw8s2pX8/s400/IMG_1376+2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Gotta say... they weren't bad!</i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-16844789357411023902019-07-31T03:18:00.001-07:002019-07-31T03:36:11.004-07:00Gettin' the Ugly Out<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 19 (Gretna Green to Abington) </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 9 mph</span><br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 48.6 miles </span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 871.7 miles </span></h2>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 1,874 ; 40,310.1 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Not too hard</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGNlNE7yUs_rxPNYfUsfQtQ3FHupYlSNdPu4-x1AvHnO6r7GJTqlJgIHsap5iKk_yESD40ezvvdr7-jr-TXzMQDz61bTyGzNdP3YAgdIp90IKMf2-TqLHvpBUL2olC4Kat01mSJkkMyn4/s1600/IMG_1329+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGNlNE7yUs_rxPNYfUsfQtQ3FHupYlSNdPu4-x1AvHnO6r7GJTqlJgIHsap5iKk_yESD40ezvvdr7-jr-TXzMQDz61bTyGzNdP3YAgdIp90IKMf2-TqLHvpBUL2olC4Kat01mSJkkMyn4/s400/IMG_1329+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not exactly sure what this is, or why it boasts the name of a French city... but it was along today's route. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />When I was leaving Hebden Bridge a few days ago, I stopped to examine my route for the day, unaware I was blocking someone's driveway. I hadn't noticed a car approaching either, and as I stood there calculating how painful my day would be, the car waited to turn. It was probably two minutes or more before a woman rolled down her window and said "Pardon me... I was wondering if... I mean... I just have to get my car there where you're standing."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I looked at the driveway, then back at her, and chuckled. "You're telling me to get out of the way!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My bluntness seemed to surprise her, and she paused to consider a response. "Politely," she finally said, politely. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Brits are famously (if not infamously) polite. What I deserved was a gentle "beep beep." I would've moved instantly with a "my bad" gesture. But manners got in the way. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So when my British guidebook mentioned that today's ride "...[would not be] the most scenic" of the journey, I had a funny feeling that meant something else. It's like when</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> people describe their studio apartments on Airbnb as "cozy."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Cozy" = "Cramped"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Not the most scenic" = "Fucking ugly"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And in that respect, the day did not disappoint. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It started ugly. There was a whole lotta ugly in the middle. And it finished ugly. In all <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVcKBdgyVuHE3MQwJJ1z0_ktPxbVXPAnMGA2epCGzXsPcMAH7JuV8nc6jsIaQ1vqgXL7l5QnL76h7fE1vihL6FAzxHTIrlhO_-twTzXItTvSopoXMw9Skkj64Hwk0NEMnim38aDt0x6AU/s1600/IMG_1324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVcKBdgyVuHE3MQwJJ1z0_ktPxbVXPAnMGA2epCGzXsPcMAH7JuV8nc6jsIaQ1vqgXL7l5QnL76h7fE1vihL6FAzxHTIrlhO_-twTzXItTvSopoXMw9Skkj64Hwk0NEMnim38aDt0x6AU/s320/IMG_1324.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most of today's scenic vista.<br />
The highway sign reads<br />
"Yellow Warning: Heavy Rain Forecast"</td></tr>
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respects. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few miles outside of Gretna Green, in the town of Ecclefechan, I stopped at a small general store for some daily provisions: Two bottles of water and three granola bars. The usual. But there was a dispute over the payment. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Everyone here pays with contactless credit cards, even for the smallest purchases. Cash is a rarity. However, as America hasn't adopted the contactless system, I still have to insert my card into the machine like a Neanderthal. It often gives cashiers some pause, as they've forgotten that once upon a time customers used to have to sign a piece of paper promising to pay the amount due. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The cashier at the Ecclefechan general store seemed genuinely befuddled when the machine spat out a double copy of the receipt, one half of which I was supposed to sign and leave with her, and she stared at it for some time. I started to gently explain the process and reached over to tear the paper in two, where the halves were supposed to be separated. She came to life, as if suddenly recalling a brief mention of this type of situation in her employee training manual. She grabbed both of my wrists before I could complete the tear and thrust me back, as if I were mishandling the Scottish Declaration of Independence. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was stunned. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She examined the tear I had made before slowly completing it herself. To her credit, her tearing skills were far better than mine. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPEbuXsIETWExchCChQaVpnnlc268AQkIJevar4WWqMg6zvnP9l_FvJ1NOAK6MEuIkxpDMhEwo1SDx-omDAtWMFfjUQd2nuKgv6uEZWXNqk1ZOszLjFXwcTzDslQ2V5PW2T1sMF_VMpkA/s1600/mean+old+lady.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="217" data-original-width="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPEbuXsIETWExchCChQaVpnnlc268AQkIJevar4WWqMg6zvnP9l_FvJ1NOAK6MEuIkxpDMhEwo1SDx-omDAtWMFfjUQd2nuKgv6uEZWXNqk1ZOszLjFXwcTzDslQ2V5PW2T1sMF_VMpkA/s1600/mean+old+lady.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I typed "Mean Old Lady"<br />
into Google and found<br />
this surprising likeness<br />
to the cashier</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She slowly handed me a pen: it was time for the signing process. I obliged, passed the signed slip across the counter, and began to collect my items. She grabbed my wrist again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I need to see the card."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Of all the security measures that have been taken to deter credit card fraud, comparing one's signature on the receipt to the one on back of the card has to be the stupidest. I refuse to sign the backs of cards, much preferring someone check my government issued ID should they bother to check. I automatically handed her both my debit card and my license. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"This card isn't signed."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I know," I explained. "I prefer someone examine my license."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Yes, but if the card isn't signed it's not valid. It could be fraudulent." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Huh? Keep in mind, everyone else in the UK simply waves a card in front of a machine and no one checks anything. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"But you can clearly see that the name on the front of the card is the same as the one on my ID."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"It doesn't matter. The rules say if the card is not signed it is not valid." Without further discussion</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">, she voided the transaction, and bid me goodbye. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I went out to my bicycle, found a pen, signed the damn card, and walked back in. I followed<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0S_bi1ImaWD9bpBPaoQiMWO9EcNC0QhOZBUwWwATs9HpfxWg-arsGDKfCUfWXD4280BxiIIR9NZD6toJBssV_JS-iF7x0caI4ZYXNJnEiBKvyjTeOvL7RHdyE7bcCgMOKi9hJqAXrUM/s1600/IMG_1325+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0S_bi1ImaWD9bpBPaoQiMWO9EcNC0QhOZBUwWwATs9HpfxWg-arsGDKfCUfWXD4280BxiIIR9NZD6toJBssV_JS-iF7x0caI4ZYXNJnEiBKvyjTeOvL7RHdyE7bcCgMOKi9hJqAXrUM/s320/IMG_1325+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Otherwise known as a "shoulder"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
behind the cashier as she restocked my items, picking each one back up as soon as it was shelved before returning to the checkout.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She wanted nothing to do with my freshly signed payment, but I persisted, once again showing her my license. Reluctantly, she compared the signature on the license to the signature on the card before declaring they did not match. Trust me, they matched. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"But it's me in the picture on the license!" I couldn't say this without laughing at the overall absurdity of the situation. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She declared that my license picture did not look like me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Do you have a razor I could borrow?" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She didn't seem to understand my humor. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UeRNcZ0s6VWCaRYTNs-WSCOV56LwSNIkfDLGNlO95qKCmNOH46vhx6s7VGdE-MHrxjbDYvqtMsh715lwctea1bufVi8VA7qEdhds5MEIpz34i0KGz-Z7L_Wreo9VVihfrypwen8jmFU/s1600/IMG_1330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UeRNcZ0s6VWCaRYTNs-WSCOV56LwSNIkfDLGNlO95qKCmNOH46vhx6s7VGdE-MHrxjbDYvqtMsh715lwctea1bufVi8VA7qEdhds5MEIpz34i0KGz-Z7L_Wreo9VVihfrypwen8jmFU/s320/IMG_1330.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flat #2</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Finally a manager came over, heard a brief overview of the situation, and looked at the clerk incredulously. "How much is the purchase?" he asked. It was seven pounds. "You're stressing this guy out on his </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">holiday over a seven pound purchase!" He accepted my payment with an apology. The clerk was pissed. I won. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To be honest, I wasn't stressed at all. I was entertained. I could've paid cash. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Three granola bars and two water bottles later, I started the day's grind. A slow ascent on a rainy day along a crumbly shoulder (which was dubbed a "cycle lane") parallel with a loud highway. A long, boring slog of a day. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It would've been the perfect time to listen to music or a podcast, and drown out the sounds of<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vY-a210_2jIVOFx6bqc5lnzUAaZYsEk_ZV77MK6Va7EvnLQ5yUnQBxEPPt6_9iQLSruHXCc9t5scaUrL8FxG59iWhYlFJprH4And2_d_zF-coT7lqZzFbU-ULA4_hWpgScQ7-GPdAKk/s1600/IMG_1332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8vY-a210_2jIVOFx6bqc5lnzUAaZYsEk_ZV77MK6Va7EvnLQ5yUnQBxEPPt6_9iQLSruHXCc9t5scaUrL8FxG59iWhYlFJprH4And2_d_zF-coT7lqZzFbU-ULA4_hWpgScQ7-GPdAKk/s320/IMG_1332.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dancing with the highway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
the major motorway- I haven't listened to anything other than an electronic voice giving me directions thus far- but I'd accidentally rolled my earbuds into my tent when I was packing up in the morning. Instead, it was the music of the highway as my road went along with it, the two occasionally having a tango when we crossed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My rear tire went flat at mile 27. A car buzzed me at mile 34. The rain picked up again at mile 39. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Occasionally there was a glimpse of Scotland's acclaimed beauty, but it was rare. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was one of those days that I consider a sacrifice when touring. "Get it done. Better stuff is ahead." Reading between the lines, the guidebook puts its tail between its legs in a veiled apology and declares this leg as the most direct route to Glasgow.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkkuhiJgRkByNJ4HHcvQAipoqvOyebkUzjjTs4fB5FPxwRdmyI05MJm10zT7sWIkhCxOM54k1Vol50wyOJdv2GJ5P8ZeF0P6PnIe0RlGqZ94BUz5qg64ar5B-5VlrOhe9kwGYApVjzfQ/s1600/IMG_1327+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvkkuhiJgRkByNJ4HHcvQAipoqvOyebkUzjjTs4fB5FPxwRdmyI05MJm10zT7sWIkhCxOM54k1Vol50wyOJdv2GJ5P8ZeF0P6PnIe0RlGqZ94BUz5qg64ar5B-5VlrOhe9kwGYApVjzfQ/s200/IMG_1327+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cliff and Carol</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fortunately, I did meet some wonderful people. Cliff and Carol, who were touring on a tandem. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Australian Shaun, who touted the wonders of riding while completely stoned. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCelRDG7WrrshcBYJnXjnvsqiu-R-q49EPt4k-M84m_5sKHCJYbZylZTTKnu6FHSixfi9hstCb3YKMI3EN1_oNm9UTwknJCgVpdDsMki-UxpjhIirGepUfqnyftLMkdjC1-VLnLNQgkE/s1600/IMG_1335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmCelRDG7WrrshcBYJnXjnvsqiu-R-q49EPt4k-M84m_5sKHCJYbZylZTTKnu6FHSixfi9hstCb3YKMI3EN1_oNm9UTwknJCgVpdDsMki-UxpjhIirGepUfqnyftLMkdjC1-VLnLNQgkE/s320/IMG_1335.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark Warren, riding for a charity called Event Mobility</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And lastly, and impressive man named Mark Warren, who is completing the same route as I for a charity called <a href="https://www.eventmobility.org.uk/">Event Mobility</a>. Unlike me, Mark is planning to finish his entire ride in only eleven days, where each day requires him to ride for more than 100 miles. His supportive family rides ahead of him and sets up camp, where they offered me dinner. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I didn't want to impose, and instead hoped there was a local pub nearby. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But in Abington, there's nothing. </span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6N5ZkHWCH3mm2mmIAnv7ZR6ycw6uQZbz0yCiErUGtzQ92nXNwqgs3O_lz0XgpBF3oIzJU57kaYhbOWVPP9ltu4D1uBOI6trmIZamB0tyg_0eJ2sqm96lXVQGYlhDuxE_xTBjYjjGdM94/s1600/E7BBE8B3-94E5-43EC-8020-FBAD29C29FF4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6N5ZkHWCH3mm2mmIAnv7ZR6ycw6uQZbz0yCiErUGtzQ92nXNwqgs3O_lz0XgpBF3oIzJU57kaYhbOWVPP9ltu4D1uBOI6trmIZamB0tyg_0eJ2sqm96lXVQGYlhDuxE_xTBjYjjGdM94/s320/E7BBE8B3-94E5-43EC-8020-FBAD29C29FF4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First bad meal in the U.K. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Except for a Burger King at a highway rest area. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And for the first time this trip, I had a bad meal, which seemed a fitting end to the day. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkNlLTZmbFVMUlXavcf6aNqIz1ASnBLH6ViLwzmbyaFVRQ7iYKYYJmzTQQtJFD3GmvsX73Kz099MAjZmy7q36blLis6lZ8WBHhab0oXGyWlbM_gIOQgMapows-OroO7PFFMqlxgbreUoI/s1600/IMG_1340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkNlLTZmbFVMUlXavcf6aNqIz1ASnBLH6ViLwzmbyaFVRQ7iYKYYJmzTQQtJFD3GmvsX73Kz099MAjZmy7q36blLis6lZ8WBHhab0oXGyWlbM_gIOQgMapows-OroO7PFFMqlxgbreUoI/s320/IMG_1340.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was, however, lucky enough to find a bottle of cider to bring back to camp. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The crispy chicken sandwich I ordered wasn't enough to fulfill me. But that wasn't a big deal. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I still had three granola bars and two bottles of water to wash them down. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">P.S.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>If you haven't figured this out by the time you reach Abington coming from any direction,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>chances are you aren't around to read it.</i></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhON6J2JKzKrLqIrm1Up0NIiI_2MRqwI2wNrH_cqORL9t7oNNYrnc5kFIXnVPKlfH8uQx_f_oqcH4TKEcYRrw8vVH598pEoIGYtu_KLCf7txn49vs_Fn2pfB5I_ux-x9QSIqU7RkwyNzic/s1600/IMG_1339+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhON6J2JKzKrLqIrm1Up0NIiI_2MRqwI2wNrH_cqORL9t7oNNYrnc5kFIXnVPKlfH8uQx_f_oqcH4TKEcYRrw8vVH598pEoIGYtu_KLCf7txn49vs_Fn2pfB5I_ux-x9QSIqU7RkwyNzic/s400/IMG_1339+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>If there's one thing we can agree on as a global society, can't it be which side of the road to drive on?</i></span></div>
</div>
Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-71823620357392147632019-07-30T03:01:00.003-07:002019-07-30T03:01:33.241-07:00Am I in Scotland Yet?<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 18 (Penrith to Gretna Green) </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 10 mph</span><br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 53.2 miles (4 of which were spent searching for a welcome sign)</span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 823.1 miles </span></h2>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 1,778.4 ; 38,436.1 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: No problemo</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigeeGsl7EPD6cMztLiU-VdeDWYowxPY8YZFFWGl1aJ8-2S8O_M8-VYTNGIUjLCpNudmLGB_s57Xl9PXEv56e0lrcUXnFax33w2MLlVaZv5waWZxAid9QrETBbrxmWSAltPPxkg9shMPPc/s1600/IMG_1312+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigeeGsl7EPD6cMztLiU-VdeDWYowxPY8YZFFWGl1aJ8-2S8O_M8-VYTNGIUjLCpNudmLGB_s57Xl9PXEv56e0lrcUXnFax33w2MLlVaZv5waWZxAid9QrETBbrxmWSAltPPxkg9shMPPc/s400/IMG_1312+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This sign was very much not on my route.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Am I in Scotland yet?" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I must've asked this question a dozen times today, worrying I'd miss the opportunity to take a picture of some important signage. </span></span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilPaKlIoFmTjSxanFZsfg1pdEOdp5ijnAaP0h_iaD0vLoAVd1zf5DnKtaYD8RWMIz75NeFhaXL3BeoKh9-1FoabrqpiH_I2H9omrNQQiX4MSdWOvp6K7x69JeQK2844mRySZV6NbkIGF4/s1600/IMG_1304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilPaKlIoFmTjSxanFZsfg1pdEOdp5ijnAaP0h_iaD0vLoAVd1zf5DnKtaYD8RWMIz75NeFhaXL3BeoKh9-1FoabrqpiH_I2H9omrNQQiX4MSdWOvp6K7x69JeQK2844mRySZV6NbkIGF4/s320/IMG_1304.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carlisle Castle- just south of the Scottish border</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because everyone is so friendly here (as they have been since I left from Lands End), the answer is never simply "yes" or "no." It comes with a whole series of directions and suggested alternate routes to find the elusive country of Scotland. When that's done, a fun and friendly conversation follows. And then a repeat of the directions since it was clear that I'd forgotten the first third of the conversation. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can only retain three directions in my head at any one time, and they'd better be simple. I prefer <i>SECOND LEFT</i>, <i>THEN FIRST RIGHT, AND A QUICK LEFT </i>over cardinal directions with descriptions of contours in the road as landmarks. If I'm being honest, even retaining three simple directions is pushing it. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is, however, easy to remember the first direction. They always start with "Go that way..." and a clear hand gesture. <i>Got it. </i></span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While the good samaritan finishes describing the intricate series of turns, I usually nod politely, thinking </span><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">"Go that way... and then ask the next person you see."</i><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwm2bICWthIcrEuMPe3BxuKS69g9q2Fnjg66O8_AF_3OLPhkkt7cV79jJs5QYn54oILETDYwgZD8A8wn0oBVGMtljR89VsHa8Ni6CgDQ5Tcy1UhK9iA5vZXS0d7cYQXcMcjPtDl3fnpg/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-07-30+at+10.01.24+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="764" data-original-width="1214" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmwm2bICWthIcrEuMPe3BxuKS69g9q2Fnjg66O8_AF_3OLPhkkt7cV79jJs5QYn54oILETDYwgZD8A8wn0oBVGMtljR89VsHa8Ni6CgDQ5Tcy1UhK9iA5vZXS0d7cYQXcMcjPtDl3fnpg/s320/Screen+Shot+2019-07-30+at+10.01.24+AM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Google could've saved me some miles</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></i>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Am I in Scotland yet?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The reason for my curiosity as to whether or not I had crossed a border could not be more insipid. I really just wanted a picture of a sign that says "Welcome to Scotland." That's it. I suppose I could've just Googled one. Took me two seconds just now to find a plethora of them, one of which is the same one I eventually took. But that just feels wrong. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8dz3ayik79W8BDYUyqzergV3_OXblUyoa_WGqwW8tcr9edk6UX-dnLtaX2fWCJV4vHypp3ebODvakNqCEcfcoRje3EsUmgulu4KYwAEIGpI_fp4CJPUKAsRFDWc6arJkEymxALR1JSY/s1600/day18_scotland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8dz3ayik79W8BDYUyqzergV3_OXblUyoa_WGqwW8tcr9edk6UX-dnLtaX2fWCJV4vHypp3ebODvakNqCEcfcoRje3EsUmgulu4KYwAEIGpI_fp4CJPUKAsRFDWc6arJkEymxALR1JSY/s200/day18_scotland.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not my bicycle.<br />
But whoever uploaded this<br />
to Google was coincidentally<br />
also on Day 18, according to<br />
the caption</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Plus, you'd never be able to Google one with a bicycle in front of it, would you? <i>[Googles adding word "bicycle" to search]. </i>Oh. Yes you can. Quite easily. And I doubt anyone would know it wasn't my bicycle. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Conversations about whether or not I was in Scotland literally added about two hours to today's ride, which was quite tame. I descended more than I ascended, and met the rarest, but certainly the most fun, types of roller coaster climbs. These are the ones where the momentum from a downhill is <i>almost</i> enough to get you over the next uphill. Feels like this would be a frequent occurrence, right? It's not. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today was also the first time I felt it necessary to wear my neon yellow cycling jacket to stay warm. Only a few days ago, on my ride to Harrogate, sweat was dripping into my eyes and blurring my vision. Today was legitimately chilly. "Scotland's always cold!" I'd heard from the people of England, "And rainy!" My guidebook (I'm back on track!) doesn't exactly pinpoint when the route enters Scotland, but being that it was both cold and rainy, I knew I was close. Perhaps I should've paid more attention in Geography class. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Am I in Scotland yet?"</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgwroc8bZEWO1xt37ipd-DklxgEsDk3QvhY5KE-HNXmDwJ5AdrtPZGwx97M51so5d8ZKayZri-ACo3oXJBORYAnspCCV9OJ51PMR8smm-gKUNFTNRahSeu21ziMOaCMJcFQ3ljhhYqEM/s1600/IMG_1307+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbgwroc8bZEWO1xt37ipd-DklxgEsDk3QvhY5KE-HNXmDwJ5AdrtPZGwx97M51so5d8ZKayZri-ACo3oXJBORYAnspCCV9OJ51PMR8smm-gKUNFTNRahSeu21ziMOaCMJcFQ3ljhhYqEM/s320/IMG_1307+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe I crossed the border here?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"No. Go that way and..." (ten minute conversation ensues).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"And there's a sign that says 'Welcome to Scotland'?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Oh. If you want a sign you'll have to go that way and..." (fifteen minute conversation ensues).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then repeat. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Until finally- </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Am I in Scotland?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Yes!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"But there was no sign!" <i>I followed everyone's directions so carefully.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Well if you want the sign you'll have to..." </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipiSPzXIx0CEUgU98RdoyAYdgCi7QBywZguj2LqZZmSCYwRvsQWA-Ifx5pQ9mBWWPhmz9Y2gGeqAzKtKlajb_7TJMsoM2yTqMRBQeb1On1waX0AwPt9elnaW7LyQl3lZ4KfUJIU5KTck/s1600/IMG_1309.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipiSPzXIx0CEUgU98RdoyAYdgCi7QBywZguj2LqZZmSCYwRvsQWA-Ifx5pQ9mBWWPhmz9Y2gGeqAzKtKlajb_7TJMsoM2yTqMRBQeb1On1waX0AwPt9elnaW7LyQl3lZ4KfUJIU5KTck/s320/IMG_1309.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tourists all fled after they took this pic</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I gave up and followed the pre-loaded route into Gretna Green, a small town on the border </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">with exactly one claim to fame: It's where people used to go to elope (and I suppose some still do). Since the marriage laws of Scotland were more lax than those of England, people would flock to the Blacksmith's Shop- just over the border- and tie the knot. Other than that landmark and a host of kitschy hotels, there's not much to the town. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yet it's teeming with tourists, each taking their picture in front of the statue of two entwined hands. They snap the picture. Jump back into the car. And speed off to the next landmark. I think some tourists see traveling as a sport to see who can take the most pictures. I mean, I was there... so of course I took the picture... but still. Seems like an awfully silly tourist destination. I can only hope it was part of a scavenger hunt. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_zCd3pxJs12dRd_GfTVTgD_xJK9QL6ytimABZE1ES5HVbhbgM6E28IeF6gg97M7xgHZnwuzlzrqmgW-fg1XYBJ8L8-KGuakRkBIMY2teL7CZwXtPGS1zCVzmiLKMVQBMuGFt53tvasw/s1600/IMG_1310+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_zCd3pxJs12dRd_GfTVTgD_xJK9QL6ytimABZE1ES5HVbhbgM6E28IeF6gg97M7xgHZnwuzlzrqmgW-fg1XYBJ8L8-KGuakRkBIMY2teL7CZwXtPGS1zCVzmiLKMVQBMuGFt53tvasw/s320/IMG_1310+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very odd claim to fame.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In a final last ditch effort to take the picture I <i>really</i> wanted, I asked two elderly men if they knew where I could find a 'Welcome to Scotland' sign. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of them pointed clearly. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Go that way for two miles."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That's the kind of direction I can follow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Although I did not have it in me to go out of my way to visit the highly recommended Pooley Bridge this rainy morning, and the campsite I'd booked for the night was a three mile cycle in the opposite direction, I knew I'd regret it later if I didn't cycle out of my way for this pic:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHfvdjPllDE3TAQN5-MTuc3lgXvIT8zWJx3YxSjnWVC4u4UCrIIQ-1zWLJNzvnOPbMYMW6mXJ5V6EZX7AmkCYx5HGK7AY0tcevYhEkWUQ6xoU1DVyTP6Bi2OP_a9WQzGyGohPREUtqC0/s1600/IMG_1314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLHfvdjPllDE3TAQN5-MTuc3lgXvIT8zWJx3YxSjnWVC4u4UCrIIQ-1zWLJNzvnOPbMYMW6mXJ5V6EZX7AmkCYx5HGK7AY0tcevYhEkWUQ6xoU1DVyTP6Bi2OP_a9WQzGyGohPREUtqC0/s400/IMG_1314.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture not found on Google.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCb55psXgkXH-ij63VOYwtcPvCbtJxxh6ydcLUcCNhnvcXXeH8hM7cyVcsNYYYB7MQy8-zK9mdn3Kw434Kq2TDnuU78xEKmDuBkl4kF20s2e9z7huSHZ4FFnguNInV-K3ypz5gKwTRqA/s1600/IMG_1317+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcCb55psXgkXH-ij63VOYwtcPvCbtJxxh6ydcLUcCNhnvcXXeH8hM7cyVcsNYYYB7MQy8-zK9mdn3Kw434Kq2TDnuU78xEKmDuBkl4kF20s2e9z7huSHZ4FFnguNInV-K3ypz5gKwTRqA/s320/IMG_1317+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY:<br /><br /><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Oliver Buehlmann!</span><br /><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">CHEERS, OLLIE!</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=iqAECyZT57I7FIeA8oKteKjpGxLoh5fY8ZSuv1I85gTaPCzyk1zKJU972eY_U2QbPDMLAG&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER</span><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not a whole helluva lot happened today. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Saw some castles. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cycled through the city of Carlisle. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Talked to a bunch of people. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Had a beer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But one memorable thing happened for sure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I made it to Scotland.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">P.S. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>I read this as "Cows Drunk on Irish Whiskey Crossing"</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6tNbP-y54SNZFrTL6YwUVS-xcXrd-Fj-OO3wyRA1DtLmDJwyyhDgfpCHCfmX75y2GMCp4NkHV-Fe9Mz28MR6HEZIQPydjEdJE_nfHu-ULLbEIn-paOZ1UZUf03v_7K06TtfcFhGIaSo/s1600/IMG_1239+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG6tNbP-y54SNZFrTL6YwUVS-xcXrd-Fj-OO3wyRA1DtLmDJwyyhDgfpCHCfmX75y2GMCp4NkHV-Fe9Mz28MR6HEZIQPydjEdJE_nfHu-ULLbEIn-paOZ1UZUf03v_7K06TtfcFhGIaSo/s400/IMG_1239+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-57236782581410199382019-07-29T02:01:00.001-07:002019-07-29T07:04:13.499-07:00All Play and No Work<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 17 (Hawes to Penrith) </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 9.5 mph</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 42 miles</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 769.9 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2713.3 ; 36,657.7 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Tough at times, but relaxing</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6SgVWWZnJO6gNH5heLr0G3lTTRKaCNZlLU2fiTKSqgSZIZkycVKmG50in28IDdRnvTuIK7-NFA5AGbZNdo7HT09jgJ9r2QHUq1xBqWIPKF7kHaxYyP07YD8V-SWp41NVrA_6S-xG3bM/s1600/IMG_1290.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6SgVWWZnJO6gNH5heLr0G3lTTRKaCNZlLU2fiTKSqgSZIZkycVKmG50in28IDdRnvTuIK7-NFA5AGbZNdo7HT09jgJ9r2QHUq1xBqWIPKF7kHaxYyP07YD8V-SWp41NVrA_6S-xG3bM/s400/IMG_1290.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the Bike Garage at the Wayfarer's Hostel in Penrith</td></tr>
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<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The first ten miles and the last ten miles are typically the most difficult of any ride while touring, no matter how long the day is. For the first ten, your legs are saying <i>"Really? We're doing this again? Didn't you learn yesterday?" </i>and for the last ten they're saying <i>"Oh boy! We get a beer and pub food soon!"</i> It's a mind game for sure, but it's real. At least for me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With my daily mileage being lower in comparison with other tours, this means that I get to hear my legs complain for a solid portion of the ride. At the beginning, it's all you can do to tell them <i>"You never know... it might turn out to be a great day."</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's like teaching a group of teenagers a difficult text. </span><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">The Raven, </i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">for instance, or a Shakespeare tragedy. It takes work to get started, but once you're knee-deep in it? Sold. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY05RfxO0NaOtQUsmNSYskuHp3lcdZncw_7G4GAhinVHn9BcHJsIw-7TUWRNyaFD-FGnAjJnzRcXta2iC_3N6rbY94Bc-o17deL8Mt1JA1qeXk9eJoeK1XUerKvf1fmvh_0pcEeABkJ08/s1600/IMG_1266.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY05RfxO0NaOtQUsmNSYskuHp3lcdZncw_7G4GAhinVHn9BcHJsIw-7TUWRNyaFD-FGnAjJnzRcXta2iC_3N6rbY94Bc-o17deL8Mt1JA1qeXk9eJoeK1XUerKvf1fmvh_0pcEeABkJ08/s320/IMG_1266.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waterfalls on the way out of the Yorkshire Dales</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, I guess what I'm saying is my legs are like a group of typical teenagers: They'd rather be on Snapchat for the first and last ten minutes of class. Gotta make the most of the twenty minutes in between. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For sure, my legs didn't want to work this morning. I was in my lowest gear every time I met the tiniest of hills. Perhaps they were pampered in Harrogate with Tracey's calf massage and thought they deserved another rest day. But they hadn't earned it. At all. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnBGIwkGFlN-75mRpXKvxJeh3_vmdVKvnpiacqlaI3gK3xrt2YQQkEYC4HIEXNdcks90dC6J32bQENlne8ZztJvKG06HzrX98ax8k2VDnhKpMI6xhiBzD9scshkApuNziEyDUYw-uvUNI/s1600/IMG_1277+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnBGIwkGFlN-75mRpXKvxJeh3_vmdVKvnpiacqlaI3gK3xrt2YQQkEYC4HIEXNdcks90dC6J32bQENlne8ZztJvKG06HzrX98ax8k2VDnhKpMI6xhiBzD9scshkApuNziEyDUYw-uvUNI/s200/IMG_1277+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's a bus doing here?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Beautiful scenery with distant waterfalls accompanied me in a peaceful ride out of the Yorkshire Dales, where I barely passed a single car. It was so quiet that it was shocking to turn a corner at the tenth mile- just as I was feeling warmed up- and see busloads of people milling about the ruins of a castle, with someone in a yellow vest directing the lack of traffic around the throng. Sure, castles are cool to check out... but they're everywhere. What was everyone doing at this one? A wedding perhaps? I pedaled up to the yellow-vested man to ask. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"They're putting on a play!" he said enthusiastically. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD3GzTtueoeQProve-Isk4zZ_JeVAWwg8UGbEwz5WFAOXaQdcehNPXR1PsP22MIO8h7QTv0VVOM3b0o5MSP7rN561bHnjvLGpUg7rOqG9fsW_rjj6DmOi_TXu48R-jEbzdsPjhuBLQJdM/s1600/IMG_1276+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD3GzTtueoeQProve-Isk4zZ_JeVAWwg8UGbEwz5WFAOXaQdcehNPXR1PsP22MIO8h7QTv0VVOM3b0o5MSP7rN561bHnjvLGpUg7rOqG9fsW_rjj6DmOi_TXu48R-jEbzdsPjhuBLQJdM/s320/IMG_1276+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Program of the unexpected play</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br />"A play? Like... with actors?" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Yes! It's about Lady Anne Clifford, who was a baroness from this area and restored that castle in the 14th century. It's starting right now and it's free! You should go!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"How long is it?" I asked, ever conscious of the time spent off-bike.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Thirty minutes, give or take. It's never been performed before, and it won't be performed again."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I did the math. The chances of me arriving at my destination later than expected are near 100%. It happens every day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But what are the chances that you're ever going to be 1) cycling near the ruins of the castle 2) in the middle of nowhere 3) where both the world premiere and final performance of a play is about to begin. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-4AzdnFeRmEY78hcMZhSJ3OVh13Tj_roJaY7r_QvDEy0h3C0CZ4ZE7IBrtTU97M5nZDJv41TrL3eeP1eBofzq7tNbvTt4YYY7yc81G4jgv7IowI0_zU8fWuWc_eaGH9_6Yh4udRs6Vt0/s1600/IMG_1272+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-4AzdnFeRmEY78hcMZhSJ3OVh13Tj_roJaY7r_QvDEy0h3C0CZ4ZE7IBrtTU97M5nZDJv41TrL3eeP1eBofzq7tNbvTt4YYY7yc81G4jgv7IowI0_zU8fWuWc_eaGH9_6Yh4udRs6Vt0/s320/IMG_1272+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A play! With Pendragon Castle as the set!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I joined the audience just as two actors stepped to the "stage" to deliver the exposition. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was awesome. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The talented cast of five- wonderfully costumed- used all sides of the castle in their performance, keeping the audience moving with them. Although the focus of the script was to give a history of Lady Anne's involvement of the restoration of Pendragon Castle (where we were standing), it was delightfully funny and remarkably well written. The bleating sheep in the background only enhanced the unique experience. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Half an hour later I was back on the bike, and my legs weren't complaining at all. <i>Told ya' something cool would happen</i>, I reminded them. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJv7nJ6BxGEWhjnIGv2mpkmxeFzWUhRsYydB0oa1jovJxIh2t6Y-EUudRA2sU8-j6G3Wr_N9K073DQYpVz7a482fG6EJifcFX1_iJTjVopMAFFxDVth0JG1DrRHZmedzOdtRHUyhNBF-0/s1600/IMG_1284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJv7nJ6BxGEWhjnIGv2mpkmxeFzWUhRsYydB0oa1jovJxIh2t6Y-EUudRA2sU8-j6G3Wr_N9K073DQYpVz7a482fG6EJifcFX1_iJTjVopMAFFxDVth0JG1DrRHZmedzOdtRHUyhNBF-0/s320/IMG_1284.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Teresa Morris</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">However, the best was yet to come. Had I not stopped for that play, I certainly would not have met Teresa Morris, a cyclist I nearly passed heading in the same direction. She had panniers on the rear of the bike and didn't seem to be in much of a hurry. These are the types of cyclists I like to talk with. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It turns out Teresa was from the area, and having cycled a fifty mile route every Sunday for over twenty years (yes, even in the harshest conditions), she was intimately familiar with every road in the Eden Valley.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I did some quick math and figured that she was nearing her 100,000th mile of cycling, a statistic that she'd never considered. And in that 100,000 miles, she'd never cycled alongside another person. She welcomed the change, and instantly became my tour guide. We pedaled casually together for the next fifteen miles, and she made sure to stop at certain points where we were afforded the best views of the valley. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNQttnfVaxFRCvLHoJ29BfZUY4M0dP1Sl1Pk-MMx5V0GMk0OCUrDisOoi_VpDSwzld5DnUkyd8FTCG181vqDncgrRAZ1bCRGjD4HMeFVwU3P4Q2HFlTk5MrCt8vk8ZEx9mqMrFZ-mQ_jg/s1600/IMG_1285.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNQttnfVaxFRCvLHoJ29BfZUY4M0dP1Sl1Pk-MMx5V0GMk0OCUrDisOoi_VpDSwzld5DnUkyd8FTCG181vqDncgrRAZ1bCRGjD4HMeFVwU3P4Q2HFlTk5MrCt8vk8ZEx9mqMrFZ-mQ_jg/s320/IMG_1285.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the Pennine Way (difficult to discern in the photo)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She pointed out her favorite parts of the Pennine Mountains: Cross Fell, Great Dun Fell, and High Cup Knick. She remarked on the history of quaint villages we passed through. She made sure I appreciated the view of the Lakes District, where she works as a conservationist. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For me, the best part of this was not the views that she pointed out, but rather seeing the passion and pride one person has for where she lives. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Why would I want to go anywhere else?" she said when I asked if she travels often. "Everything I could ever want is right here." Occasionally, she takes holiday in Scotland, where she cycles and promotes conservation (she laughed at this, fully realizing that her "holiday" life is essentially the same as her "work" life). </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ouvuEeus9JMhFISVCJNQJFVCWXnKFdWCAeToqboN5t81B4ofKier4kkHsOj8lgfG5HoGCYxPnOqqECfUIVdhUPGVfC0d0ILGfvTGkpxHv0ys6lQaNPbxSULD6hcwHeVetuWHe2Q-G4k/s1600/IMG_1288.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ouvuEeus9JMhFISVCJNQJFVCWXnKFdWCAeToqboN5t81B4ofKier4kkHsOj8lgfG5HoGCYxPnOqqECfUIVdhUPGVfC0d0ILGfvTGkpxHv0ys6lQaNPbxSULD6hcwHeVetuWHe2Q-G4k/s320/IMG_1288.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me... and a squirrel with a "bushy" tail</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We parted ways in the town of Morland, where she pointed out the comical topiary of a squirrel next to a church. Picture-worthy for sure. And true to her word, she followed up with an e-mail providing informative links to the sights we'd examined and <a href="http://cumbriawildscapes.blogspot.com/?m=1">her blog of pictures she'd taken while cycling</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Although we cycled relatively slowly, the time had flown by, and it still felt like midday when I arrived in Penrith to a cyclist's hostel (where there is a free bicycle mechanic's shop for visitors). </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8x12D1g2C6vBmZ6QjjYoc10jyVxhr7_ys1kY8-ZQGiX7wBYC_9URQ-ryFRxCMs8gWIXDEe3fYvkFAAJHmC_9viIOP8R9t06PrqRBXBaLwn_E1n9HyWCZK7YCmWPd1WssUhYjeoua8k0/s1600/IMG_1298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8x12D1g2C6vBmZ6QjjYoc10jyVxhr7_ys1kY8-ZQGiX7wBYC_9URQ-ryFRxCMs8gWIXDEe3fYvkFAAJHmC_9viIOP8R9t06PrqRBXBaLwn_E1n9HyWCZK7YCmWPd1WssUhYjeoua8k0/s200/IMG_1298.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charles and me</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I sought out dinner, and quickly met Charles Van Havarbeke ("My last name translates to <i>'Cereal River'!" </i>he pointed out later). I correctly guessed that Charles was from Belgium based on his accent. Impressive, right? Actually, it's not. When I can't place an accent, I always ask if the person is Belgian. They're never offended if I'm wrong, and 2 times out of 10 I'm right. It's also really fun to note their expressions on the occasions that I am correct. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's a great feeling to meet long distance cyclists who have planned less than me. Charles <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDY_lQ_HC8p0x0O2dxx2j-6qY8GDiyNKySAvgrr7PUKmIaVQcQWyqXD7Ko7HcLz_nWkxcP644pft9nUznUUMjvEFmXpxTMOaGJgnbdluBaURQNu_3P1MrVJ6IZDust7lzBrc4SlC9600s/s1600/IMG_1294.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDY_lQ_HC8p0x0O2dxx2j-6qY8GDiyNKySAvgrr7PUKmIaVQcQWyqXD7Ko7HcLz_nWkxcP644pft9nUznUUMjvEFmXpxTMOaGJgnbdluBaURQNu_3P1MrVJ6IZDust7lzBrc4SlC9600s/s320/IMG_1294.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY:<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">CHRISTINE THOMPSON!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">CHEERS AND THANKS!<br /><br />CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=uyJUGPl07QqTX0gPlUP1t_UyIuZaoKT9P2JiRJaP9IEnm8_-2tvEORkRhAZRRqyPkWPIRW&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER!</span></td></tr>
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had no clue where to stay that night, and was unaware of how demanding the climbing of the area would be. My kind of cyclist. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I invited him back to the hostel where there was plenty of room in my dorm, and we spent the night half-talking and half-pantomiming (English being difficult at times) over a couple of beers before heading to bed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was one of those days I was sad to see come to an end. O</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">ne of the most memorable, for sure. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I didn't even realize until after I'd lain down that the last ten miles of today's ride weren't difficult in the least. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">P.S.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>I showed up in Penrith just in time for Pot Fest!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Don't get too excited... it's literally a festival that celebrates pots. </i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-81744837257141951032019-07-28T02:48:00.002-07:002019-07-28T02:48:38.976-07:00Channeling Langston Hughes<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 16 (Harrogate to Hawes) </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 10.5 mph</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 51 miles</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 727.9 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 636.5 (that seems very wrong- I'm positive I did more than that... but that's what it says) ; 33,944.4 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Somewhat easy</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2NHh8MK4PbXR_HbcxlyBzX7N7C_miApIOBvD9HnibAbIyQu1tWa5soWGZtbVKfF5dBGKVGF_hMJ0cTTToLeZwFUotSgHa72Vrmb7vZ6WRvh-gZ00ZnNumagRmvemzj3ShVeMaSe5boI/s1600/IMG_1238+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2NHh8MK4PbXR_HbcxlyBzX7N7C_miApIOBvD9HnibAbIyQu1tWa5soWGZtbVKfF5dBGKVGF_hMJ0cTTToLeZwFUotSgHa72Vrmb7vZ6WRvh-gZ00ZnNumagRmvemzj3ShVeMaSe5boI/s400/IMG_1238+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiny Bicycle Zip-Tied to a Road Sign</td></tr>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Let the rain kiss you</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Let the rain sing you a lullaby<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />The rain makes running pools in the gutter<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />And I love the rain.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">-Langston Hughes</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We knew it was going to rain today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Andy put things in perspective the night before while sipping on his evening tea.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Rain is always good for someone. It just might not be you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Still, he couldn’t help but choke back laughter when Tracey opened the front door to see me off. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Sorry, mate.” It was pouring. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I’m sure it won’t get much worse than this,” all three of us said in some form or another at the same time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space">And I was off, momentarily forgetting which side of the road I was supposed to be cycling on (see video).</span></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwIg08b_PacV5fXyTrjf_2kl-UTNiQyc0CmUcSwuVF0TjFE8k9fFMyXWXOSWTKMOq3_EDNyp3TJq8Rx-ShPew' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For the first thirteen miles, to the town of Ripon, the rain steadily increased in intensity. Normally my mind wanders off, and I don't much focus on the ride itself unless I'm cursing at a steep hill. But the only thing one can think on a bicycle in this kind of weather is <i>Wow. I'm really wet. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTK9iFoFgXKbgIT_WwB3BSWcBh8n52T6Yr6RJiJ4xCy4EXHbeoEW2uIwUoI40eh9vkfcse175V0tjGLABT-YyLZa-GVqmULrQylmCCa8WhTDLID63cG1TOyNL3HQwh9JkffrqPYuPdfY/s1600/IMG_1234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTK9iFoFgXKbgIT_WwB3BSWcBh8n52T6Yr6RJiJ4xCy4EXHbeoEW2uIwUoI40eh9vkfcse175V0tjGLABT-YyLZa-GVqmULrQylmCCa8WhTDLID63cG1TOyNL3HQwh9JkffrqPYuPdfY/s320/IMG_1234.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ripon</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I tried to distract myself by reading road signs aloud, practicing the different types of British accents Tracey and I had discussed during my stay in Harrogate (this is as ridiculous as it sounds), but instead I always found myself saying "It's raining!" </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I also encountered a brand new challenge, literally fighting through a current of rainwater as it raced downhill, eager to flood the bottom of the road. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All of this might sound bad. But it wasn't. In fact, it wasn't even close to bad. It's easy to be miserable in these types of conditions- too easy. However, nothing is more out of one's <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWfgciXfxJgnWE7y-e8yO_sqXOlkzDp-WcFyp4AZ9w1KGt64x1_0mc1V2OgVUuXLw5GhZKFTG1YkR0jn1WdFyeEIagyf7BqfHsFYIi7LmFTK2zhdPQUuNmSv0tR2zkj6YmrViAPIV9YC8/s1600/IMG_1240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWfgciXfxJgnWE7y-e8yO_sqXOlkzDp-WcFyp4AZ9w1KGt64x1_0mc1V2OgVUuXLw5GhZKFTG1YkR0jn1WdFyeEIagyf7BqfHsFYIi7LmFTK2zhdPQUuNmSv0tR2zkj6YmrViAPIV9YC8/s320/IMG_1240.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A momentary break in the rain</td></tr>
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control than the weather. And, while it might take a little more work and mental effort, you may as well enjoy it. The alternative certainly doesn't help. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I crossed paths with about five cyclists today. Every one of them was smiling, and shouting greetings and encouragement from across the road. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I watched a man practice sprints on the main street of his town- back and forth- while I checked maps under a bus shelter. His smile seemed to grow every time he passed, and when I left he stuck up his hand for a high five. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sure, I would've preferred the sun. Yes, I was looking forward to drying off. Of course, I would've liked to have been able to take more pictures. But no way was I going to let my own misery become another obstacle. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-n9ALh1KucYIrXIDe0b4Y2Px_RHmtyvllsJQ_WCpqu1rc0TkcUMqhJz4CNpoCdqNxRsf4kgMZULpymA_b3z0Oj9U3xa3Nn4lLeJO3Nis7f5WRfg2KvVbrMXQ9wmUR8pK8308Vuea1T2o/s1600/IMG_1241.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-n9ALh1KucYIrXIDe0b4Y2Px_RHmtyvllsJQ_WCpqu1rc0TkcUMqhJz4CNpoCdqNxRsf4kgMZULpymA_b3z0Oj9U3xa3Nn4lLeJO3Nis7f5WRfg2KvVbrMXQ9wmUR8pK8308Vuea1T2o/s320/IMG_1241.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Taking fewer breaks than usual brought me the 51 miles to the town of Hawes faster than it normally would. Hawes is located in the Yorkshire Dales National Park. It's a strange concept to me- that the national parks have normal, populated towns within them- but they're relatively quiet, and attract an older, more mature crowd of tourists. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The "youth hostel," where I was lucky enough to book the last available bed, is full of cyclists and hikers, and I'm among the youngest. There are no drug-induced midnight conversations about whether or not human beings are robots, <a href="http://greensaddle.blogspot.com/2019/07/the-philosophers-den.html">like there are in the big city hostels</a>. Just people who want to go to bed early and get a jump on the day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'm still not quite one of those people though. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_664PQD0uy40EZUtTTv979RRmzJ6UcwnNAcicA62P6WwtiNOuUXfdnjwSkkuqrtSmUNDP1a-lm4ocjZYoRq1U-bL-5ZvosXkP9UBDNZnuCEIw3b7EHEhBP_QI5hYksHZOOPwWnV-LTBA/s1600/IMG_1257+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_664PQD0uy40EZUtTTv979RRmzJ6UcwnNAcicA62P6WwtiNOuUXfdnjwSkkuqrtSmUNDP1a-lm4ocjZYoRq1U-bL-5ZvosXkP9UBDNZnuCEIw3b7EHEhBP_QI5hYksHZOOPwWnV-LTBA/s320/IMG_1257+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Everybody now! <i>My ding-a-ling!</i><br />
<i>My ding-a-ling!"</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Instead, I quickly found a local pub, ate a plate of ribs, and had a refined conversation about cultural differences between Americans and the English with Phillip, Moyra, and Karen, three native Brits on holiday. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As if to counterbalance this, I visited another pub where a raucous crowd was singing karaoke. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They asked me to sing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So I did. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Although I introduced it as an old American folk song, perhaps I should've reconsidered my song choice of <i>My Ding-a-Ling </i>by Chuck Berry. Normally, it's quite the crowd pleaser! And while about half the pub drunkenly sang along with the chorus, the other half looked on with curious expressions. </span><br />
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UaEC-lWSlmI" width="560"></iframe>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"You're not shy then, are ya' mate!" a man said when it was over. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Not at all!" I replied.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQGwEBDu8FLaXbvGdVxVWXG9PbmGznTB_3toGE4DXQwrCQPDzE5gn1Mb1HGdczasS2llRPv7hI6AKO-fqAf9hZXFzigReiHTMoBKypleVt3Z949MWw_LETpuYqgTOPasTki9vY7jJ7tk/s1600/IMG_1244+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhQGwEBDu8FLaXbvGdVxVWXG9PbmGznTB_3toGE4DXQwrCQPDzE5gn1Mb1HGdczasS2llRPv7hI6AKO-fqAf9hZXFzigReiHTMoBKypleVt3Z949MWw_LETpuYqgTOPasTki9vY7jJ7tk/s320/IMG_1244+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY MOM-TO-BE<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">STEPHANIE BYRNE!</span><br />CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=lKRmbCbSwInOqmOEfmakN3Sp4buGuatBIchNSxEb9yRUmgyUZrNuDyDbKTimk5WQ9nafSW&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER!</span></td></tr>
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</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At least I gave them something to talk about tomorrow.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Still, I found a way to nonchalantly sidle out and head back to the hostel, where all my clothes and gear was drying in a heated room. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It'll get wet again tomorrow. And perhaps the day after that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And while I may not always be able to maintain the same level of optimism as I did today, I can certainly try.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It wasn't a good ride today. It was a great one. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Rain is always good for someone," Andy had said. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>It may as well be you. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">P.S. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>If you think for one second I would stick my head in one of those stupid</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>tourist cutouts, and ask someone to take a picture...</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>You'd be absolutely right.</i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-50893888780772909952019-07-27T01:59:00.000-07:002019-07-27T11:10:39.701-07:00The American Invasion<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 14 (Hebden Bridge to Harrogate) and day 15 (rest day)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 35.5 miles</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 676.9 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2,979 ; 33,307.9 total</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Window Art on Today's Route</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5KcDEhPy3qNifFAVBww9B6p595B97aHrVELEJhWKqwVggnbheyZeCpFiMlBBCIHSFTldmB1c_oApSbnRnYRBOQaLRpnMytFtNjoGvS5k92bSlovNjsp4tdzw-HhfU4f917RED5sq4hU/s1600/IMG_1227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5KcDEhPy3qNifFAVBww9B6p595B97aHrVELEJhWKqwVggnbheyZeCpFiMlBBCIHSFTldmB1c_oApSbnRnYRBOQaLRpnMytFtNjoGvS5k92bSlovNjsp4tdzw-HhfU4f917RED5sq4hU/s320/IMG_1227.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I decided to tour the U.K. this year, barely two weeks before leaving, I immediately sent a message to Andy and Tracey, <a href="http://greensaddle.blogspot.com/2016/07/coppin-ride-rim-job-and-british-invasion.html">cyclists I had met while crossing Missouri almost exactly three years ago</a>. They were going the opposite way, and I credit the one night we stayed together in a curious (and cheap) hotel as a turning point in that trip- their humor and positive attitude bolstering me through the oppressive heat and humidity associated with Missouri's July. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the time, I couldn't even recall the name of the end point of the trip ("...something O'Groat" I had written).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Andy replied immediately:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-nEk1xrl8yqDjHdi9VFaDobdPviuGL2PYPqHsnJtPqkfJhVFN5fgijAhyphenhyphenBjd6bxAMRx0x7nNlIcf_u65sio766igcqRPt5PBQnM3xXFyl4ov089lAcQfH7f_6FWcjJc9U0myYYjP_qs/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-07-27+at+7.49.38+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="372" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-nEk1xrl8yqDjHdi9VFaDobdPviuGL2PYPqHsnJtPqkfJhVFN5fgijAhyphenhyphenBjd6bxAMRx0x7nNlIcf_u65sio766igcqRPt5PBQnM3xXFyl4ov089lAcQfH7f_6FWcjJc9U0myYYjP_qs/s320/Screen+Shot+2019-07-27+at+7.49.38+AM.png" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's true that they are on the way to Scotland. However, one can argue that pretty much everywhere in England is on the way to Scotland if you're moving from south to north. The town of Harrogate wasn't on my route, but that doesn't matter much here. It's been rather fun zigzagging my way along rather than taking the direct route.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I entered the details into a new app I'm using called Kamoot as an alternative to Google Maps. I'd been told it provides a more cycle-friendly experience. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The app warned me before I set off: THIS ROUTE IS FOR EXPERTS. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I shrugged that warning off. <i>Pshaw!, </i>I thought, <i>Even if it's a bit tough, it's only 35 miles!</i></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very confused goat in road</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Experience" and "Expertise" are two words that shouldn't be confused. I have no problem calling myself an experienced touring cyclist, but I sure as hell ain't no expert. The day's terrain on the hottest day of the year here served as a not-so-gentle reminder of that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'd describe the first climb out of Hebden Bridge as "wonderfully brutal." After all, I still had energy, and it was a delightful change from the canal towpaths I'd been following, providing a remarkable view of the valley. Everything that followed? Just plain brutal. Even the goat who caused a minor traffic jam was having difficulty finding its footing on the relentlessly steep hills (or perhaps it's that goats' hooves just weren't made for pavement). </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtxu2tOCvzANLf-NcXv3vZgqm2zXVm-vFsH6-wEf4-fz0JWztRDh-59wb-RMocmnkyx4ditXpXhzDhNV-cnMQFjKBpzGyvpJ7PHNJO-gWzp2D8JHhFQIt0XHKA9wIU3s2oVx7vIZM___M/s1600/IMG_1225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="990" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtxu2tOCvzANLf-NcXv3vZgqm2zXVm-vFsH6-wEf4-fz0JWztRDh-59wb-RMocmnkyx4ditXpXhzDhNV-cnMQFjKBpzGyvpJ7PHNJO-gWzp2D8JHhFQIt0XHKA9wIU3s2oVx7vIZM___M/s320/IMG_1225.jpg" width="198" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andy takes a pic of my arrival</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Five miles in and I sent Andy a text, changing my ETA to later in the day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's always easy to look back on something you did and romanticize it. I mean... I feel fine now! And as soon as I saw Andy waving from the street corner, dressed (as always) to the nines in a waistcoat, tie, and porkpie hat, everything miserable about the day's ride instantly vanished. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But if I'm being honest, I'm pretty sure that ride was awful. Certainly the least enjoyable of the trip so far. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Initially I'd been leery when my hosts encouraged me to take a day's rest and enjoy their hometown. I don't really do that when cycle touring. I always worry about losing whatever momentum I have. It's the sacrifice one makes on this type of trip: You see everything and nothing at the same time, often sacrificing sight-seeing in favor of a brief and general overview. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With a freshly pulled calf muscle and two of the most entertaining people I've ever met eager to show me around, it wasn't hard to convince me. I'm pretty sure Tracey would've sabotaged my bike had I insisted on riding the next day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And for the first time ever, I was a true tourist, enjoying every second of a full rest day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Had I continued on, I would've missed:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1) The Club.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Andy plays bartender at The Harrogate Club<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Andy belongs to a "Gentlemen's Club" (no... not that kind of Gentlemen's Club), where members are welcome anytime to enjoy the solitude of a posh and refined environment. Want to try your hand at snooker? Head over to the Harrogate Club! Need to unwind with a snifter of brandy after a long day at work? The Harrogate Club is the place to be! Members have their own keys, tend their own bar, and have their run of place, and as long as everyone respects the environment, it's yours to do with as you please. I quite like the concept, though perhaps I shouldn't have worn flip-flops.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruins of the Knaresborough Castle</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2) The Knaresborough Castle</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tracey and I took a long morning walk to the nearby village of Knaresborough, which features the ruins of a castle built in the 12th century. I've found that astonishing views and attractive towns are the rule in England rather than the exception. After climbing the steps up to the landmark, we rewarded ourselves with an 11 AM beer... because... you know... it's a rest day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">3) Tea at Betty's</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Betty's Tea Room is a well-oiled machine of a restaurant, renowned for its "Cream Tea." It's a bustling business with locations in several of England's more refined cities. I'd seen </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">cream tea advertised ever since entering Devon, and I assumed it was simply tea served with cream rather than milk. Cream, however, refers to the array of pastries that accompany the tea. It still makes no sense to me- why they'd call it "cream tea"- the tea itself is not being modified at all and it is certainly not the main feature. We debated this at length. I think I won. </span><br />
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4) The Walking Tour</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By chance, a friend of Tracey and Andy's was giving a free walking tour of the city after we finished our lunch. With a polished charisma, our tour guide, Harry, explained the history of Harrogate as a destination for the wealthy to enjoy its many hydrotherapy centers of the 1800s. Today, we'd laugh at people's desire to cleanse themselves in sulfur water or experience electric shock as someone dropped the equivalent of an electric toaster into your bath, but back then? It was all the rage. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiULPrDd804miYbcf4iH-uDGbrqviomdfRDfhJUxryVTPZVSiMO4yMIxml_YTQnhuw9ltrGeifXVfmJvafpDzlvrg01aQ_8EgewnSEJpK9isWsy9PAhuihmSJh6twpvURl8d_4eaggfdnw/s1600/IMG_1211+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiULPrDd804miYbcf4iH-uDGbrqviomdfRDfhJUxryVTPZVSiMO4yMIxml_YTQnhuw9ltrGeifXVfmJvafpDzlvrg01aQ_8EgewnSEJpK9isWsy9PAhuihmSJh6twpvURl8d_4eaggfdnw/s320/IMG_1211+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">5) The Dinosaurs</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As tomorrow is Carnival in Harrogate, the town is in preparation for all kinds of events. And a group of remarkable actors in intricately designed costumes decided to give an impromptu preview. All of the town's pedestrians were in shock as five dinosaurs and a witch paraded around the town centre, both delighting and horrifying children in an impressive stampede. It was nearly impossible to figure out how a human being fit into the costume and operated its neck, tail, head, and jaws at the same time. Really... check out that video. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While I name these as five highlights during my brief stay, the true highlight was simply enjoying the company of two wonderful, caring people with whom I shared an amazing experience. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just as when I met them in Missouri, there was no shortage of conversation and laughter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They even adorned my bed with a teddy bear as a reminder of the creepy infestation of dolls that surrounded us at The Butterfly Inn, where we'd last met. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY:<br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">ANDY DENNIS</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">and</span><br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">TRACEY HILL!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Click <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=hWmBLcqqCbPsEOgJxYCL98W4Fafa3iL6jQ-LVugsFJDr6A8UhRYEXVKC-aS_5i3aTbuym0&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a> to sponsor a beer!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And a calf massage to end the night? Don't ask me twice. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I'd met them in America, I was nearly halfway through my journey, and very much in need of an emotional boost to get me through the rest. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Very little is different this time. I'm halfway to John O'Groats. And as I prepare to head out into the rain, it will be with a smile. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thanks, Andy and Tracey.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can't wait to cross paths again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">P.S.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Nothing like a little bathroom poetry to lighten your day,</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>though there seems to be a bit of debate as to what the final word should be.</i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-66060399086860566502019-07-25T02:30:00.000-07:002019-07-25T02:45:44.325-07:00What Are You Trying to Say?<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 13 (Manchester to Hebden Bridge)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 9 mph</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance: 28.1 miles</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 641.4 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 780.8 ; 30,328.9 total</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Signage on the bulletin board in my hostel</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Of course," the young bartender replied. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horses on my route today.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Is it difficult to understand me when I talk?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I often wonder this, since the language can be so difficult to comprehend with the accents that grow thicker as I head north. People often assume I am Dutch, or even Irish when they hear me talk. I don't quite get that either. "You don't sound like they do on the American telly!" a woman had told me back in Cornwall. "And I watch a lot of American politics. You don't sound like them either!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Thank God for that. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"I can understand you just fine," the bartender said. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Hebden Bridge from the hostel on the hill</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I had just finished the day's unremarkable short ride. After showering and finding accommodations in the cleanest hostel I've ever been in- where shoes and meat products aren't allowed beyond the front door (a severe contrast to the rathole I found in Manchester)- I rode back down the steep hill into the center of Hebden Bridge. A few lazy pedals around the "fourth funkiest town in the world" (no idea what the first three are), and I decided on The Stubbing Wharf for dinner- an 18th century canal-side inn I'd passed on the way into town. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"The beer is cheap and the food is good!" a diner had called out when I was initially passing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sold. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">That's when I met John. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPy2RSGT6re9E3JOAsxfHNHgDvPy0meYPQ0Av0drFQ6fk2y2Qyg9-ZVNWljKrb9iR6TDOOPlN95Z5-qE1bvpA2kx2OeMc9Gu4t-sQGDtCiHtoZF1pyczDE242h5G-xgSpDRVSp1yqluTU/s1600/IMG_1106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPy2RSGT6re9E3JOAsxfHNHgDvPy0meYPQ0Av0drFQ6fk2y2Qyg9-ZVNWljKrb9iR6TDOOPlN95Z5-qE1bvpA2kx2OeMc9Gu4t-sQGDtCiHtoZF1pyczDE242h5G-xgSpDRVSp1yqluTU/s320/IMG_1106.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lisa, me, and John</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">He noticed my accent as I ordered a pint, and the Usual Questions began. Before my beer was poured, John had paid for it and demanded I join him and his girlfriend out on the patio. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The thing is, I could only understand about every fourth word John was saying. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'd asked if he'd ever been to the States. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"I... [unintelligible]... Vancouver... </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">[unintelligible]... then down to Reno... [unintelligible]... bear.. [unintelligible]... cubs... [unintelligible]... I had no idea they weren't friendly!" </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I nodded and laughed at the correct times, but had no real grasp on what John was saying. I'm pretty sure he flew into Canada then decided to try and trap a bear in Reno, but was unsuccessful and perhaps attacked. Was it the thick Yorkshire accent making comprehension difficult? Or perhaps a few too many pints of Fosters?</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BpRtJ11pcm8kZN5lX0unn6_2W4T3qJh1z9PHLoXEH1mXCPMcfykxGunx1QYeE3CgUgB9kCG62S-5dbxxfW9MfdO-c5E1bCldT5md_bhgMm81Fa-nBsJcrFnC15STRH5G2QuaOPg9OnE/s1600/IMG_1062+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BpRtJ11pcm8kZN5lX0unn6_2W4T3qJh1z9PHLoXEH1mXCPMcfykxGunx1QYeE3CgUgB9kCG62S-5dbxxfW9MfdO-c5E1bCldT5md_bhgMm81Fa-nBsJcrFnC15STRH5G2QuaOPg9OnE/s320/IMG_1062+%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's headline in <i>The Sun</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The same sort of thing happens when I talk with Jamie. I have to ask him to repeat every third sentence he speaks. It's both entertaining and exhausting.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"What 'ya think 'o Trump?" John asked, eyes bulging. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Silence as he stared at me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I hate this question, as I try to avoid polarizing conversation that never seems to matter in the long-run. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Instead, I countered. "What do you think of Boris Johnson?" Though England's newest P.M. is certainly in the headlines today, I haven't heard any discussion of him whatsoever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"What an idiot! He... [unintelligible] and Brexit is [unintelligible]... so Trump is [unintelligible] and World War II we... [unintelligible]... Churchill needed... [unintelligible]... Dan get this American another beer [clear as a bell]!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Looking to change the course of the conversation, I asked John about the charming town of Hebden Bridge.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"IT'S FULL OF LESBIANS!" he shouted. His girlfriend Lisa told him to quiet down. "What?"<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hSsQUnNroJejVazCGGLuFv3_gjE7EpxEirSY73QB9IJ0eqVzNFshPtpkBvKPuHUmkw7TYHYR7kh4jhEs4GaOfvP6xzLKJ0ErQjEjNX4y-iG9CG7DxRZUVbZJP19dfGWXkr837Jl_R5E/s1600/IMG_1156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hSsQUnNroJejVazCGGLuFv3_gjE7EpxEirSY73QB9IJ0eqVzNFshPtpkBvKPuHUmkw7TYHYR7kh4jhEs4GaOfvP6xzLKJ0ErQjEjNX4y-iG9CG7DxRZUVbZJP19dfGWXkr837Jl_R5E/s320/IMG_1156.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pride banner in town centre</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
he said, "It's true! It's the lesbian capital of the U.K.! Probably the world! I don't care a'tall... people can do whatever they want! I'm just saying... they're always walking their dogs!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">John seemed prone to dramatics and exaggeration, but I fact-checked this later, and he was correct. <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=lesbian+capital+of+england&oq=lesbian+capital+of+england&aqs=chrome..69i57.2522j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8">A quick search</a> confirms this unequivocally. Pride flags fly proudly throughout the town and shops cater to all types of lifestyles. A banner promoting Happy Valley Pride Week: An Eclectic, Alternative, an Inclusive Week-Long Festival for Everyone was strung in the town centre, and outré cabaret acts were promoted on street corners.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpl4g0paG2wf1JeUSvRUTuVQRngitIklgzsndleOVhUqQNQPWOqWt_fTNhFTBl9b_XuqcH_mXKRZr-qEJgb1vy_yV91QkCMHE_1JHh-J_znwhZz8HkBllxbwKfo-q2AzK6s9slX6spw0/s1600/IMG_1158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZpl4g0paG2wf1JeUSvRUTuVQRngitIklgzsndleOVhUqQNQPWOqWt_fTNhFTBl9b_XuqcH_mXKRZr-qEJgb1vy_yV91QkCMHE_1JHh-J_znwhZz8HkBllxbwKfo-q2AzK6s9slX6spw0/s320/IMG_1158.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pic doesn't do justice, but the lights at night<br />
surround the town in the hills</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Tucked in a valley, it's a beautiful town with a lively, warm, and welcoming personality. At night, the soft glow of street lamps decorate the surrounding steep hills where residences are embedded. It almost looks like a Christmas tree. I appreciated this as I hiked back up to the hostel after John had called it quits for the night. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"I'm... completely... pissed," John eventually said, as if suddenly realizing his drunken state. Several times, he'd invited me to ditch the hostel to stay at his house for the night. I certainly appreciated the offer- and probably would've accepted had I not already checked in- but it's rather a good thing I didn't.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGjNyip3QrPOVioQXakP1cqC-YP3TNgan7qLLUiuJAm9K-zFY3l1SgYj64Yreo_16gtKcJ5erqo2WyaeRGgUJWSNOF8af5jMNCWZWXtdMis_hOhIsGx7TPppOZtJdD_W3aSj9-N6WgRY/s1600/IMG_1157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGjNyip3QrPOVioQXakP1cqC-YP3TNgan7qLLUiuJAm9K-zFY3l1SgYj64Yreo_16gtKcJ5erqo2WyaeRGgUJWSNOF8af5jMNCWZWXtdMis_hOhIsGx7TPppOZtJdD_W3aSj9-N6WgRY/s320/IMG_1157.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">MAMA Q!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Thanks, mom.<br /><br />To sponsor a beer, click <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=XVpPK-r5uqDcg0c3vRU1gcTsO0ovKX1QeJq-THs_NGVNUFnR0Wq3OBewHDV8Yhn8NXH6x0&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a>.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Though a resident here for the past dozen years, he didn't seem to capture the essence of the town. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The hostel on the other hand, run by a woman named "Tree" has six different recycling bins, funky artwork, and pamphlets promoting acceptance of one another. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I like it here. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Their message is easy to comprehend. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">P.S.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>I can only assume that someone asked a five-year-old to name these towns.</i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-12703015103976561722019-07-24T02:31:00.003-07:002019-07-24T02:31:41.025-07:00Chasing Jamie Norton... Again<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Days: 11 and 12 (Stafford to Peaks District) / (Peaks District to Manchester)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 8.5 mph</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distances: 67.8 miles / 31.1 miles</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 613.3 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2841.2 / 1197.5, 29,548.1 total</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jamie, Loki, and Me</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWdjMTyLBDBZsAgyEBwT_BtfRvEHend38-5il4mtxbzktAH06sdnvRE_6xL8qMtUvJ1obfveWk_P0D9nz-rVy_CI0FjwMcY5srcYLsmatYNH_jG48_sUJgG-hyex4vsFbk8bFND8FimDI/s1600/TJXT7394.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1599" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWdjMTyLBDBZsAgyEBwT_BtfRvEHend38-5il4mtxbzktAH06sdnvRE_6xL8qMtUvJ1obfveWk_P0D9nz-rVy_CI0FjwMcY5srcYLsmatYNH_jG48_sUJgG-hyex4vsFbk8bFND8FimDI/s320/TJXT7394.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Sure you got it in 'ya?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Jamie had sent me a Google Maps screenshot of the route from Stafford to the ever-so-vague “Upper Booth Campsite” in the Peaks District. 65 miles. With a monster climb at the end.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: normal;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“You sure you got it in ya’?” he texted.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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</span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></span></div>
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</span>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: normal;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Normally, I’d be offended by the question. 65 miles was par- if not below par- for both the American and European trips we’ve done together.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-weight: normal;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">But it’s a fair inquiry. My distances have been short, and my routes indirect. Jamie knows this. He knows me: my bad habits, my penchant for getting lost, my late starts, my addiction to convenience stores. All of it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">However, the window was closing on Jamie’s vacation from work: One day left. One opportunity to camp out for a night and shoot the shit.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">According to Google Map’s bicycle feature, it was a six hour ride. I have learned to add at least 50% to whatever is predicted. Google might know how to tailor advertisements to me, and how to intuitively auto-fill embarrassing searches like “How to set up a tent” before I type the fourth word, but it certainly thinks too highly of me as a cyclist.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC1dYeBXMrhZbRfdhRpnpUye3-MnAYrhcuuRmGF-S9edVv5I4SznUK4BWghwH0zf2ubIisBoruOdUE-XtbmTzv_xY_Z8flfFeKl5ubUVy3ZtUho9u_h50W9a30ZjjvHLtJ3eCtswmqXsw/s1600/IMG_1036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC1dYeBXMrhZbRfdhRpnpUye3-MnAYrhcuuRmGF-S9edVv5I4SznUK4BWghwH0zf2ubIisBoruOdUE-XtbmTzv_xY_Z8flfFeKl5ubUVy3ZtUho9u_h50W9a30ZjjvHLtJ3eCtswmqXsw/s320/IMG_1036.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peaks District. Lots of peaks.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space">I told him it shouldn't be a problem. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“It’s called the Peak District for a reason…” he added.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“It might not be pretty, but I always make the goal,” I responded.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“True that.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Like I said. Jamie knows me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">When I set off from Virginia to begin my Trans-America cycle to San Francisco three years ago, I started noticing I was always writing my name just below his in guest books at places we had both visited. Day after day I read </span><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: small;"><b>Jamie Norton- Manchester</b></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"> as I wrote </span><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: small;"><b>Jim Quinlan- Westtown</b></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"> just below, dated one day later. It became a goal of mine to catch up with him.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">And eventually I did.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://greensaddle.blogspot.com/2016/07/meet-black-saddle-care-package-2-and.html">Only took me 'til Kansas.</a><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">We finished that trip together, then completed the bulk of the European tour together as well. Sometimes cycling with one another, often not- always respecting one another’s independent nature. And always laughing. Hard.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">It would be a crime to miss a reunion, especially since I was headed straight through his <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiN3zbyT91qRl-68uQDYAUC3zK5xOeULf0A3Q-8f9du5irv2ANyA09GXUZEfYwR94whOpc-pYqmLMPL2-YJxhVnT6RudBV9AAqADR2X_rNejsb4Ut1aR8Gk4kLiDVmR_BvT9Q5rcIuZvs/s1600/IMG_1007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiN3zbyT91qRl-68uQDYAUC3zK5xOeULf0A3Q-8f9du5irv2ANyA09GXUZEfYwR94whOpc-pYqmLMPL2-YJxhVnT6RudBV9AAqADR2X_rNejsb4Ut1aR8Gk4kLiDVmR_BvT9Q5rcIuZvs/s320/IMG_1007.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading into the Peak District</td></tr>
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home city. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">So I set off from the ho-hum town of Stafford at 9 AM, proud of my early-ish start. And for the fist time since leaving Lands End, I threw in my earbuds… not to listen to music, but rather to hear firsthand directions from the soothing female voice that is behind Google Maps.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>“TURN LEFT,“ </i>she said with a touch of enthusiasm as I entered a huge roundabout.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Which left?” I asked aloud. When you’re in a roundabout, everything is a left.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">She didn’t answer, so I guessed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“<i>MAKE A U-TURN,” </i>she said, pleasantly.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I did. Back into the roundabout. Four more options.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“<i>TURN LEFT,” </i>she said again. I tried the next exit, and this seemed to momentarily satisfy her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“<i>TURN LEFT,”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i>500 feet later.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Okay.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“<i>TURN LEFT.”</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">No problem.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“<i>TURN LEFT.”</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Back into the roundabout.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">1/4 mile into the day, and I needed a break to study the map.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iAgX6qlJEMc" width="560"></iframe>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The National Cycle Network in the U.K. is amazing. Organized by the charity <a href="https://www.sustrans.org.uk/">Sustrans</a>, it has labeled nearly 17,000 miles of cycle friendly routes. When you see the little blue bicycle stickers on sign posts, you know you’re in safe hands, and you can breathe a sigh of relief.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Once you’re off it? Good luck.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-size: small;">“TURN RIGHT.”</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQiZNUr8dYlkfZLefKFqLq2LUbilqmRJ1oxUKdtzuScgx12ghnvXzO64_yRQx23WGVIaShST0wEG53UztQnSNjDW8alUB1EKxkZyrtpbfub35KUE8Kh8U5kkKMZ6UrKvIcoh2dMvyYhk/s1600/B13BDC34-E8E9-4389-A73A-CDEA701FF16B.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQiZNUr8dYlkfZLefKFqLq2LUbilqmRJ1oxUKdtzuScgx12ghnvXzO64_yRQx23WGVIaShST0wEG53UztQnSNjDW8alUB1EKxkZyrtpbfub35KUE8Kh8U5kkKMZ6UrKvIcoh2dMvyYhk/s320/B13BDC34-E8E9-4389-A73A-CDEA701FF16B.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awful.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh! A canal towpath! Single track! Tree roots!<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“<i>TURN LEFT”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></span></span></div>
<div class="p2" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">On a major highway? You sure?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><i><span style="font-size: small;">“SHARP RIGHT”</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">What’s this? A rustic overgrown horse trail?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“<i>SLIGHT LEFT”</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"><i></i></span><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG-1CLWONiyXHfW588TuJovPg3-hTkBOIQT00tt5B1TqsWytOclSmS_gAlDmhqRRDW7QMbPZDy8Zm2-_r83dbudi42RBvPkqkmb-Uir2NnszZRJXJVZ_QoUrz_DSuYbWzcQwZhaLzLmIc/s1600/IMG_1002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG-1CLWONiyXHfW588TuJovPg3-hTkBOIQT00tt5B1TqsWytOclSmS_gAlDmhqRRDW7QMbPZDy8Zm2-_r83dbudi42RBvPkqkmb-Uir2NnszZRJXJVZ_QoUrz_DSuYbWzcQwZhaLzLmIc/s320/IMG_1002.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perfect.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Ahhh… beautiful groomed cycleway through the forest. Sometimes Google gets it right.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“<i>CONTINUE STRAIGHT</i>”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Ummm… that appears to be a wall.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">By my fortieth mile, my patience was short. And when I finally- <i>finally</i>- came to a path that was sanctioned by both Google and the National Cycle Network, I was met with a temporary fence and a sign: PATH CLOSED.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIx9MA9mYDI7rk48hJ3PMP88bvlFG64hzV-DJjLq2GWLlyO0-rm-1i6d3adU9W8PxgNWawTywwxryl7ExFNqMpGFYIXzOqLGUtDqcB6SHXec6cXYzPB1yuDzMMu4Nw_eT3d-JrQVvp20U/s1600/IMG_1004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIx9MA9mYDI7rk48hJ3PMP88bvlFG64hzV-DJjLq2GWLlyO0-rm-1i6d3adU9W8PxgNWawTywwxryl7ExFNqMpGFYIXzOqLGUtDqcB6SHXec6cXYzPB1yuDzMMu4Nw_eT3d-JrQVvp20U/s320/IMG_1004.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gates were made for ignoring.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I could see the short section of path that was closed. Nothing seemed to be going on. It looked clear on the other side. I mean, in America, how often is road work actually happening when roads are closed for “Road Work”? So I hauled my bike and all of its gear up a steep embankment and past the gate. <i>Road work my ass! </i>I thought. </span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Turns out there were indeed men working there, and they just watched me in stunned silence as I hurled my gear over the second boundary. I pretended I didn’t see them. It was awkward. </span><br />
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I’m that guy.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">But I persevered, delighted that I’d cleverly evaded what was sure to be a major detour.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Then, another PATH CLOSED sign.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDg9beXnvb1qU_oqKZVTcAyqtBK5HJQ-dvzHaWdTEmpcVZrmnRDZiqrD9fKwXe36E3JvQP1xntoqcbiLYyvIswIoYt5w9OgQrZVS5rYotAAuCjKz-7P_SEnpXTPKqRBJU4-GpBBfmJDs/s1600/IMG_1005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDg9beXnvb1qU_oqKZVTcAyqtBK5HJQ-dvzHaWdTEmpcVZrmnRDZiqrD9fKwXe36E3JvQP1xntoqcbiLYyvIswIoYt5w9OgQrZVS5rYotAAuCjKz-7P_SEnpXTPKqRBJU4-GpBBfmJDs/s320/IMG_1005.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I noticed a construction worker setting up a barrier in the distance and cycled through a field for a chat, hoping he’d let me through. Not a chance.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“Do you see that electrical cable?” He gestured upward. Couldn’t miss it. “That’s coming down any minute now. If you continue on, you’re going to die.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Oops.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I didn’t mention that I already fumbled my way through one barrier.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">He suggested taking a major highway instead. Google agreed. It sucked.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">But when you’re off-route, you’re off route. Without local knowledge, and devoid of savvy in general, I was at technology’s mercy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">As I neared mile 60, I threw all my trust into the Maps app as I was entering a “no service” zone. If I so much as accidentally closed it, it would never re-route me. So I climbed. And climbed. And climbed. </span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">It was a Utah climb. Long. Slow. Tough. But manageable.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The Peak District is indeed aptly named.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNlBixAt7zipgU1A5N-GZzkjiso2xDVczeRaue9e2rtxcW4KCnEG4AJr2V2a0FGRA_V-NrTWfLeNHceMrN3N_ZaHuFkJMCJGFKEZYbdhYo_qLbg4AL_mz4Cw7WDGUYa6xx-s1Yqmse5ik/s1600/IMG_1015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNlBixAt7zipgU1A5N-GZzkjiso2xDVczeRaue9e2rtxcW4KCnEG4AJr2V2a0FGRA_V-NrTWfLeNHceMrN3N_ZaHuFkJMCJGFKEZYbdhYo_qLbg4AL_mz4Cw7WDGUYa6xx-s1Yqmse5ik/s320/IMG_1015.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vicky and Jamie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Jamie’s route brought me into No Man’s Land, and I couldn’t help but think he was messing with me. <i>What kind of destination is ‘Upper Booth Campsite’? </i>I thought more than once.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> But I followed Lady Google's vocal instructions dutifully.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">And then I descended.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">It was an Appalachian descent. Quick. Sharp. Steep. But fun.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwVzg1i7X-8btgtyCBZvLjf_Rv3LpJcRUrB3Sqyya1JEvUep6cu7EOCFkI6Q0h0RUNM86lvZZcxrqQgk_RE2fMstNjzXAli55n8dSMsRq1btJ8Fu3viuFelIR9v2CJfdiPmzevs4oDGbM/s1600/IMG_1019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwVzg1i7X-8btgtyCBZvLjf_Rv3LpJcRUrB3Sqyya1JEvUep6cu7EOCFkI6Q0h0RUNM86lvZZcxrqQgk_RE2fMstNjzXAli55n8dSMsRq1btJ8Fu3viuFelIR9v2CJfdiPmzevs4oDGbM/s320/IMG_1019.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Loki- a shiba inu pup</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Sure, per technology, my estimated time of arrival was 4:30 PM.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I made it at 8:30.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">And across a field, I saw Jamie, his girlfriend Vicky, and his new puppy Loki well before they saw me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMi4LZ_uj120q5cLE2YkYhusKHFSwZX0LjVsJfNB6xErT2_V03KCrDWg86Pd6ipP8olaHDx_P4upYi3FpiiBXUoKThkLHubo7nxMLa78dbXWQnbKtMjGs2Y5yBk5NBxKnErkM9GnBVME/s1600/IMG_1021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWMi4LZ_uj120q5cLE2YkYhusKHFSwZX0LjVsJfNB6xErT2_V03KCrDWg86Pd6ipP8olaHDx_P4upYi3FpiiBXUoKThkLHubo7nxMLa78dbXWQnbKtMjGs2Y5yBk5NBxKnErkM9GnBVME/s320/IMG_1021.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY<br />
CROSSWORD BLOGGER EXTRAORDINAIRE<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">JENNI LEVY!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">TO SPONSOR A BEER, CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=yT44rBT9r8nhNcOnrJy9MrWAqZwoNY4HX9DykZsmDvRX2tyl0732s0dRtUuq_BjaEgvAIG&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a></span><br />
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<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">There was barbecue. There was beer. And there was nowhere else I would’ve rather been.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="p2" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif; font-size: large;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“I was wondering if you were going to find us… because I wasn’t gonna go out searching for your sorry ass,” he said.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“It might not be pretty, but I always make the goal.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">“True that.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">P.S.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<div style="font-size: large; text-align: center;">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Hey, Jenni! Been a while since I've done a crossword. Getting rusty... little help?</i></span></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-69089485924232643782019-07-22T04:29:00.001-07:002019-07-22T04:29:24.716-07:0060 Miles on an Eerie Canal<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 10 (Warwick to Stafford)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 8.5 mph</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Today: 60 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 514.4 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 1122 today, 25,509.4 total</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia1rw_8-J2UzT21whjx7hyphenhyphenkotRPgUlBwDXuivezsD-QpCTKsUv-sgMkZBxQVk9TRmkozWEMr5rzleVaNH31SLiVmCdKRNanSp4u7LC3lFGwnKA6zStUWrEg5VpDcugkPa3v62te4PuKK8/s1600/IMG_0988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia1rw_8-J2UzT21whjx7hyphenhyphenkotRPgUlBwDXuivezsD-QpCTKsUv-sgMkZBxQVk9TRmkozWEMr5rzleVaNH31SLiVmCdKRNanSp4u7LC3lFGwnKA6zStUWrEg5VpDcugkPa3v62te4PuKK8/s400/IMG_0988.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Either an abandoned bicycle or an art piece. Found in a canal underpass. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />Canal paths are kind of like above ground pools. I like the idea of them. They seem refreshing. But after about three minutes, they lose their appeal.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The bulk of today’s ride was on a canal path, which sounds quite pleasant, doesn’t it?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Here are seven reasons why canal paths<span class="Apple-converted-space"> can be very unpleasant to cycle along:</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">1. THE GATES</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUuj8Vdow8Wb0-z2lHv4IojcMqEBHHXEY8hz9Y5VFhvevpcgUR72f5XcXDgZgAUDJITbFu-8cCR5PYW18mUw4dNamcT5bvE0RBDjyXs9qweHTnOVL-CuxwihqcX6VJPA4IqW8DrbXfR6c/s1600/IMG_0973.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUuj8Vdow8Wb0-z2lHv4IojcMqEBHHXEY8hz9Y5VFhvevpcgUR72f5XcXDgZgAUDJITbFu-8cCR5PYW18mUw4dNamcT5bvE0RBDjyXs9qweHTnOVL-CuxwihqcX6VJPA4IqW8DrbXfR6c/s320/IMG_0973.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many types of gates blocking the canal entrance.<br />This one is relatively easy to get through.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It’s totally understandable. You don’t want people bringing their ATV’s, Go-Karts, Harley Davidsons, or horses on the trail. That last one is quite ironic since canal paths were specifically designed for equine, but it’s 2019. No one is hauling grain down to the nearest market at three miles per hour with fifteen stops along the way at canal locks.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But geez.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">They do a damn good job at making sure it’s difficult to get through. There are gates that are narrow and maze-like. Gates that feature small vestibules and an intricate door system. Gates within gates. There are so many different types of gates that each one is its own challenge to get through. Like a mini escape room. I mean, my fat ass can fit through them just fine. My bicycle’s fat ass on the other hand… there’s a challenge.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Late in today’s ride, a couple of teenagers watched me struggle through a Z-Style gate (that’s what I’m calling it anyway). They were laughing hysterically. So was I. “Don’t make fun of me!” I shouted. They burst into applause when I made it through. I like those kids. That brief exchange may have been the highlight of the day.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDxpOnBTRPju6s_qlVBXqaIvFxcYpw7PYG1LiLLzSu_juT4UhNfJD1g2f0PS8vo3R-R5QXzaFrCEEYONRL8bVC7g-AcK6ByQl1ZWhqnWR0sTOyGEk_tdToFRK0u6xO5swQf03IzOlzdcc/s1600/IMG_0982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDxpOnBTRPju6s_qlVBXqaIvFxcYpw7PYG1LiLLzSu_juT4UhNfJD1g2f0PS8vo3R-R5QXzaFrCEEYONRL8bVC7g-AcK6ByQl1ZWhqnWR0sTOyGEk_tdToFRK0u6xO5swQf03IzOlzdcc/s320/IMG_0982.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Often, a person is sitting on the railing in the middle<br />of a tunnel.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">First of all, there’s a lot of them- which, like the gates, is totally understandable. The canal path is a great place to walk the dog for a stretch (as a side note, I’ve never seen such well-behaved canines in my life). But, particularly on the narrower paths, encountering pedestrians (or oncoming cyclists) often means dismounting from the bicycle. While it’s always a polite encounter, I’m sure we annoy one another equally.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Secondly, many sections of the canal tend to attract quite the “dodgy” crowd (there’s a British word I’m happy to adapt!). Is the guy stumbling down the path in front of me disgruntled? All it would take is a gentle nudge, and I’m swimming. What about that lady sitting on the railing in the middle of a dark tunnel? Am I attractive bait with my neon yellow jersey and a fully loaded bike? Fingers crossed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgybdI3KVoHW27a5ebCTjwIQnfvEOlAqGZirOc5fXcSW5yVgF9IpEMuEWkEVfNc4MaamavZlPR8kxAm6FX0ngaaWfzZl0iQRjwT20_wuWzB0fm7OtY82Ujuc9ZeRmFsCbTN8WST25Gk8PM/s1600/IMG_0979.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgybdI3KVoHW27a5ebCTjwIQnfvEOlAqGZirOc5fXcSW5yVgF9IpEMuEWkEVfNc4MaamavZlPR8kxAm6FX0ngaaWfzZl0iQRjwT20_wuWzB0fm7OtY82Ujuc9ZeRmFsCbTN8WST25Gk8PM/s320/IMG_0979.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">3. THE TUNNELS</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I’m sure if you find the correct angle for your body and have incredible intuition for balance in the dark with no point of reference, it’s fine. But as I recently failed my audition as head contortionist for Cirque du Soleil, I mostly walk through the tunnels. Otherwise I bang into the brick wall. I have the abrasions on my right shoulder to prove it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">4. THE SPEED BUMPS</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmumVdraYgkxIRiO3FyK4w1et3HWhHnkrw4ODpsBBQr2K_OK9OQPOFPHgtTB30UvS30lLTFFQOSWO3u9hCpLm7n9yg82O34hqO9tMmwcWfek7mKDtdASkwve82rrIsjKDWX0IV1IEjbJk/s1600/IMG_0974.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmumVdraYgkxIRiO3FyK4w1et3HWhHnkrw4ODpsBBQr2K_OK9OQPOFPHgtTB30UvS30lLTFFQOSWO3u9hCpLm7n9yg82O34hqO9tMmwcWfek7mKDtdASkwve82rrIsjKDWX0IV1IEjbJk/s320/IMG_0974.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A trip to the proctologist waiting to happen</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">There are countless times along the canal where one needs to cross an overpass, or suddenly dip down wherever canal locks appear. In order to dissuade cyclists from traveling recklessly, there are intentionally raised rows of bricks. I’ve found that it’s best to walk these areas, unless you want to explain to your proctologist why it is you need a bicycle saddle extraction.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">5. THE PATHS THEMSELVES</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdLYjx9jIEzwmeKDdpQp4LFHl9M3yBDYN1oWd0vM7Bfq7OjExIN0pnJw9vgqN-5HTOlzDn2gQ2axs0lwLkMtGEoKCp1flHAP7eHTmRy9mSVCnlyPyvbnvaLNHF5DmHXv7NJkLC4siLf4M/s1600/IMG_0971.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdLYjx9jIEzwmeKDdpQp4LFHl9M3yBDYN1oWd0vM7Bfq7OjExIN0pnJw9vgqN-5HTOlzDn2gQ2axs0lwLkMtGEoKCp1flHAP7eHTmRy9mSVCnlyPyvbnvaLNHF5DmHXv7NJkLC4siLf4M/s320/IMG_0971.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keep your balance!</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sometimes the paths are so narrow and close to the water’s edge that it takes full concentration and confidence to traverse them. For me, concentration and confidence are not things that go together well. Either I’m concentrating, or I’m confident. When both come into play, I’m a hot mess. I just assumed I was going to fall into the canal at some point today, and I had a plan as to what order I was going to throw my stuff to dry land when it happened (bike was last on the list).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The surfaces change quickly and dramatically, from single-track to wide gravel paths to grass. Outside of urban areas, they’re overgrown with dangerous thorny brush. Head down. Don’t snag your lip.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">6. THE BOREDOM</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODqykzCX4XGhdjTFBCMpsOWyCsjC5ycEd3uoED1a6xVFN2kZ49iQW5xEl_cmIkZTZ9C2qgCd6zEnuu5OVIxSp69zSWdG8uspXit4nz-NfKYGJ3xN8M8UYnVbd0Qw0jFGWZOPyf_qGspk/s1600/IMG_0977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgODqykzCX4XGhdjTFBCMpsOWyCsjC5ycEd3uoED1a6xVFN2kZ49iQW5xEl_cmIkZTZ9C2qgCd6zEnuu5OVIxSp69zSWdG8uspXit4nz-NfKYGJ3xN8M8UYnVbd0Qw0jFGWZOPyf_qGspk/s320/IMG_0977.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My view of Birmingham</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Seems lovely, doesn’t it? 60 miles along a canal? That shit gets old quick. Not much to look at. The water, though well-fished, is still and appears lifeless. Once you’ve seen one canal boat, you’ve seen them all. And at some point, I figured I’d see at least <i>one</i> interesting piece of graffiti. Nope. Canal graffiti sucks. If I can match the quality of your graffiti in five minutes on a windy day with a can of generic Home Depot spray paint, then there’s a problem with your artwork. Why bother?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I went through Birmingham, England today. Can’t say I saw any of it though. I sure can tell you about the canal that runs its circumference!</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">7. THE FLATNESS</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FLAT.<br /> And doesn't the water almost look like you can cycle on it?</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I know how often I bitch and moan about climbing. But… that’s sorta what makes cycling fun. No one climbs to the top of a mountain and says “I regret doing that!” The endorphins kick in, and you’re addicted. Kansas was one of the toughest states for me to cross in America for a reason. It’s flat. And because of this, it takes work to enjoy. For me, rail trails and canal path share that same quality: they’re too much work to enjoy for not a helluva lot of payoff. After three granola bars, two pints, and a chicken dinner, it’s quite possible that I consumed more calories than I burned in today’s sixty miles.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">At mile 50, I left the trail (right by a sewage treatment plant!) and headed to a highway, which had a paved cycle path running parallel.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A view from a bridge.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Less idyllic for sure.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But I couldn’t have been happier.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Google kept trying to push me back to the canal.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sorry, Goog.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It’s my way or the highway.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Or in this case, it’s my way and the highway.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGlVaRMgYf24rUuTzlsGwfUzIYa0VTKi9oScyu9_HooarX2Knt_APDhoGA8hLSOQuuusbspuBcVMtKYMxTxBNEh4GshrAiqBFaGfgCTmwigPg4pNbDI6JQnrsPLPpuyNqPyvq05PEjt8/s1600/IMG_0998.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijGlVaRMgYf24rUuTzlsGwfUzIYa0VTKi9oScyu9_HooarX2Knt_APDhoGA8hLSOQuuusbspuBcVMtKYMxTxBNEh4GshrAiqBFaGfgCTmwigPg4pNbDI6JQnrsPLPpuyNqPyvq05PEjt8/s320/IMG_0998.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY:<br /><br /><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">KEVIN McINTYRE!</span><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br />Much appreciated!<br /><br />CLICK <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=v_mTTpIxak7DTn3wRebEVtn4n7FupAsR8CitDxwBbgykU2dzPB4ir7LIGpnHlO6XOPmeJm&country.x=US&locale.x=US&Z3JncnB0=">HERE</a> TO SPONSOR A BEER.<br /><br /></span></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'm still off-course. And FOMO has kicked in more than once as I wonder where the guidebook would’ve taken me. Probably not Stafford, where I am right now. This is a no-frills town for sure. But no worries- I’m in for a helluva ride tomorrow with some climbing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Gotta start early.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Gotta catch up with someone <a href="http://greensaddle.blogspot.com/2016/08/twenty-miles-behind-perfect-ride-and.html">who’s always twenty miles ahead of me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></a></span></span></div>
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<i>I know when I'm not wanted.</i></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-28901819013601583862019-07-21T03:18:00.002-07:002019-07-21T03:18:47.096-07:00From Warwick to Warwick: Crashing George's Party<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 9 (Gloucester to Warwick)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 10.5 mph</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Today: 53.7 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 454.4 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 1234.4 today, 24,387.4 total</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A near carbon copy of the sign welcoming visitors to Warwick, NY</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George meet Jim. Jim meet George. Now party.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The 21st birthday is a big thing in England. Although there are no new rites of passage that come with it (the drinking age is 18 here), it’s not dissimilar from the way Americans celebrate.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And luckily, I made it to Warwick, England just in time for George’s 21st birthday party.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I don’t know George, and George doesn’t know me. But here I was. Not-so-freshly changed out of my cycle clothes and into my fancy outfit: the lightweight grease-stained pants that I had worn all day yesterday in the torrential rains (still wet), and my blue button down shirt, which had been rolled into a ball and stuffed at the bottom of my laundry bag. I did, however, find a fresh pair of underwear… so there’s that.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Mary's Cathedral in Warwick</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Anyone who was anyone in the prosperous town of Warwick (pronounced “War-ick”- the second <i>w </i>is for show), was at George’s party, and so was I.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“We like to keep it casual,” Christine- one of my hosts- said in consolation when I pointed out how intensely wrinkled my shirt was. I looked around. Everyone looked pretty damn sharp.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Less than a week ago, I received a message from a friend of mine back home: “If you’re going through Warwick, I know some people there who would like to host you!” Being that I’m essentially from Warwick, New York (where the second <i>w</i> is <i>not </i>just for show), and the town was only fifty flat miles in the same general direction I was heading, it was a no-brainer. Also, it would mean passing through Stratford-upon-Avon, the birthplace of a somewhat famous playwright.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful Warwick, England.<br />Warwick, New York doesn't have a castle... other than<br />the one where you can ride Go-Karts and play Mini Golf.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">So off I went- my guidebook no longer guiding me, and my navigational system with the pre-loaded courses no longer an effective tool.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Although there is indeed a cycle option in Google Maps, it’s not alway effective. Sometimes, it will direct you through people’s back yards, where a footpath may have existed at one point. Other times it will take you miles out of your way, assuming perhaps that you want a scenic route. However, the worst thing it does is that it often directs you to roads where it’s technically legal to ride a bicycle, but highly illogical.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">That was the first twenty-five miles of today’s ride.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Stay off the ‘A’ roads,” my friend Jamie had advised me as I set off from Penzance.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Avoid the ‘A’ roads,” Mark Cole had said a few days ago.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“You want to keep away from the ‘A’ roads at all costs,” members of the Tewkesbury Hillbillies cycle teams said to me at the very beginning of today’s ride.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thankful to be off of the 'A' road-<br />Cycle path leading to Stratfod-upon-Avon.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Thus far, I have been pampered with wooded cycle paths and nearly traffic-free country roads the entire way. Not today. While not nearly as harrowing as the Croatian roads I had cycled on during my last European tour, I wasn’t mentally prepared for the traffic on A46 today. I’m sure these are the same drivers who patiently meander through the one-lane roads I’ve been on- the same people who wave and give a pleasant thumbs-up after figuring out how to navigate around one another- but their animal instincts take over on the ‘A’ roads. This is vehicle territory. Take your bike and shove it. On the rare occasion that a sidewalk or a shoulder appeared, I jumped over to them as quickly as possible, thankful for the momentary refuge.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Bard</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shakespeare's birthplace. Allegedly.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I would’ve loved to explore the Shakespeare Centre, or to have taken a tour of Anne Hathaway’s cottage, but alas, when you’re cycle touring, one hour off bike is ten miles you didn’t travel. Instead, I had a brie and bacon baguette at the aptly named <i>Food of Love Cafe</i>, snapped a photo or two, and headed out, just as Stephen- my other host- was calling to ask how far away I was, offering directions for more direct route. I interpreted this as “Get pedaling!” and indeed I did.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my hosts- Christine and Stephen Cross</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">He found me instantly as I entered the city centre (I guess I stick out a bit), and introduced me to nearly every person we passed on the way to George’s party. Both he and his wife Christine have been past mayors of Warwick, and they were happy to take me under their wing to ensure I had a pleasant experience in their hometown.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sign after my heart.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Because there were so many introductions to be made, it was somewhat difficult to duck out momentarily in order to check out the annual beer festival that was calling my name- but I managed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY<br /><br /><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">CHRIS KUVEKE!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Thanks, Chris!<br /><br />SPONSOR A BEER BY CLICKING <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=RXX8RBSWme5YJ9DffrUCElxXAxOYN23HLO-jyVX4NT25YnvEFVMFT1Fc2MK8-jeM0FaNnG&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a>.</span><br /><br /></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><span style="font-size: large;">P.S.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><i>I wanted a souvenir, but I'm not so sure this would clear U.S. Customs</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><i>Great price! I sell mine for at least double that. </i></span></span></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-29314743813190820992019-07-20T02:28:00.003-07:002019-07-20T02:28:56.971-07:00A British Summer<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 8 (Bristol to Gloucester)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 10 mph</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Today: 53.3 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 400.7 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2,322.8 today, 22,153 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Easy terrain made obnoxiously difficult by weather and detour</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium; font-weight: normal;"><span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I fell twice today.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Only once was it from a bicycle.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-HwUPV23c3kqcJTRfmUoCpsxgJAhtP3ADKEq2D0MI4281zCtiFdCNdA4Sv377em85W7VQJF6C_X3tYwVlDpyphvnyJ7KZYDogGzGjyE-UIJL_SfXebFaCi72oZeyr0SimsSuspLwN7dg/s1600/IMG_0903+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-HwUPV23c3kqcJTRfmUoCpsxgJAhtP3ADKEq2D0MI4281zCtiFdCNdA4Sv377em85W7VQJF6C_X3tYwVlDpyphvnyJ7KZYDogGzGjyE-UIJL_SfXebFaCi72oZeyr0SimsSuspLwN7dg/s320/IMG_0903+2.jpg" width="240" /></a><span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Ten miles before reaching my destination of Gloucester, I sought shelter from the driving rain under the awning of a pub, where a local man greeted me with high optimism. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">"Look on the bright side!" he said, "There won't be any obnoxious pedestrians out walking their dogs along the canal trail!"</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>True.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">"And it's completely flat!"</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Also true.</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">"And it's been a solid week of nothing but sun. There's no fun in that!"</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Not true. </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">But hey, this guy was mostly right. I had already made it over forty miles in the torrential rain. What's ten more? It was this thought I was entertaining when I made the poor decision to switch sides of the rough and rocky path on which I was cycling. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSssiCL1KAqbojGIV4CutPSdUc95V4IxazK0vwIP4uxKV64hE2GgwDmxnDNJXGtuTdXxK0k-8JNsB1WoRYibhHa-ueQeM0d1H0MxvJ5YF4DB9DPO2ImLqPv6pHMwI2TBkcfFuaJG6gftk/s1600/C064BE5B-DE67-46EE-BCCB-58F84767C272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSssiCL1KAqbojGIV4CutPSdUc95V4IxazK0vwIP4uxKV64hE2GgwDmxnDNJXGtuTdXxK0k-8JNsB1WoRYibhHa-ueQeM0d1H0MxvJ5YF4DB9DPO2ImLqPv6pHMwI2TBkcfFuaJG6gftk/s320/C064BE5B-DE67-46EE-BCCB-58F84767C272.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">When you cross a raised surface on a bicycle (say a curb, or a railroad track), it's best if it's approached perpendicularly- head on. Had I noticed the grass median that was separating the sides of the path was raised, I would've just stayed put in my miserable lane. Instead, because I tried to cross it while parallel, I went sailing into the thorny brush, where I lay for a minute or two, unsure of how to get up. Surprisingly, I was unscathed. Only my pride suffered a blow as my This-Is-The-Year-That-You're-Not-Going-To-Fall Goal could no longer be reached. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Worse things have happened. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Since I started a week ago, people have commented on how lucky I was to be in England with such lovely weather. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnpHJOkHfsj_Da958D7kE3HD2XXfHMCFP9VQFUGFcaUF80KCboKiZ9-uZSWZQvzTVVXwKCUutxLhtL9dbP4niQE4CwwHryk5wMNsDOIgvc4KLq8DYq2LnwqgUDv2XDQhGlFazbLGsWWl4/s1600/IMG_0930.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnpHJOkHfsj_Da958D7kE3HD2XXfHMCFP9VQFUGFcaUF80KCboKiZ9-uZSWZQvzTVVXwKCUutxLhtL9dbP4niQE4CwwHryk5wMNsDOIgvc4KLq8DYq2LnwqgUDv2XDQhGlFazbLGsWWl4/s320/IMG_0930.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's Elevation Profile.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">No one made that comment today. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">I left Bristol at around noon, when the nasty weather of the morning was showing signs of easing. But as soon as I was done with the bulk of the day's climbing, it picked up right where it left off, just as I was approaching a police tape line, preventing anyone from continuing on my route.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Along with cycling negative miles in the wrong direction (like I did two days ago), another thing that a touring cyclist hates is the dreaded Detour (or "Diversion" as it's called here). </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">I neared the police car on guard in order to ask for special permissions to continue on- "Sorry," the officer said, "no one is allowed through." </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Puppy dog eyes lose their power as a male approaches his fortieth year. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Instead he offered alternative directions:</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">"If you head down that highway, then make a left at the first roundabout, follow signs to the hospital until you hit a double mini, then go jiggety-puff around the whirley-woo, tippety-tap the buggery-boo, and kerplop the kitchety-koo... and you'll be there." </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">That's what it sounded like to me anyway. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Even the officer laughed. The directions were absurd. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">"How far a diversion is that?"</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Another laugh. "Oh, it's quite far. I suggest you start pedaling!" And with that, he rolled up his window. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Unable to effectively use Google Maps due to the downpour, I was left to rely on my own intuition. Never a good thing. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThwH9zr4Z4HuLKSuKQEseLKTsu44QRt7A7Tl7qIDH3KevLKre-rF1brI953h4rX5PBMvGa7mJHsHm3ELYx0bRnz1Z4AgO3KCgy6x7_lGRLDVj5zuF_P9twpx6A6GTm7AX-vEf7twdU3Q/s1600/IMG_0905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThwH9zr4Z4HuLKSuKQEseLKTsu44QRt7A7Tl7qIDH3KevLKre-rF1brI953h4rX5PBMvGa7mJHsHm3ELYx0bRnz1Z4AgO3KCgy6x7_lGRLDVj5zuF_P9twpx6A6GTm7AX-vEf7twdU3Q/s320/IMG_0905.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Double Mini</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Two miles later, I was staring at a dead end, where a cyclist named Jon happened to be setting out on his own bicycle. No amount of rain seems to deter people from riding bikes in England. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Through the translucent wall of water that separated us, he shouted directions, only slightly more clearly than the officer. A "double mini" was still involved, which, as it turns out, is a roundabout that looks like a figure eight. And if the line of traffic from each direction is any indication, a "double mini" seems to confuse absolutely everyone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;">"Welcome to a British summer!" Jon shouted jubilantly as we said our goodbyes. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzVUV7PejV6vW0Ty__dvo2A1eaBqMNC2vkOlvz8ezp22N6Uj5Pg5KKHjgV5aSxI-hYwmQQGyBKELkCimSdE1e_AMj6UBnbohIqgSarA15XtWH_Pw0XajE2QNKslsCTqHZXWz9mPmUs69w/s1600/IMG_0908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzVUV7PejV6vW0Ty__dvo2A1eaBqMNC2vkOlvz8ezp22N6Uj5Pg5KKHjgV5aSxI-hYwmQQGyBKELkCimSdE1e_AMj6UBnbohIqgSarA15XtWH_Pw0XajE2QNKslsCTqHZXWz9mPmUs69w/s320/IMG_0908.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bike takes a break from the rain</td></tr>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Hours later, after stopping under nearly every bus shelter I passed and asking directions from every amicable-looking person I saw, I was back on course. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">From there I only took two respites from the rain- one in a quaint bus shelter along a country road, and the other under the pub's awning that I mentioned earlier. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Once you're soaked to the core, it's much easier just to continue rather than to stop and dry off, only to ride back into it. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SuOF7vof8PWCSfS2QskNwYMWnsjvfsXK_inrn8pFOrwy3J7Y3hrWGz7LDqWI9YZ6dOgcETkHXNfpeUA5wAopqRc2kdTV_TDb1lzeKIXLIn_SrO-BmynH3A7C3bKfqdW8KvcrtEcrr5g/s1600/IMG_0913.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SuOF7vof8PWCSfS2QskNwYMWnsjvfsXK_inrn8pFOrwy3J7Y3hrWGz7LDqWI9YZ6dOgcETkHXNfpeUA5wAopqRc2kdTV_TDb1lzeKIXLIn_SrO-BmynH3A7C3bKfqdW8KvcrtEcrr5g/s320/IMG_0913.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First impression of Gloucester</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As I'm now nearing the Midlands and exiting the South West, the route flattens a bit and the scenery becomes more industrial, as reflected in my approach to Gloucester.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Perhaps the rain didn't help much, but Gloucester is a far cry from the quaint cities and endearing towns that I've travelled through thus far. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKFpN12nX3n15wAeH8r0kF-i-RSIGMg-2ndZXhv7fI4hPzvDeq6UT8UlYjCIypoxQljLMYX2Wk126oemHI1iK_Z3U-3G3_QYbT9_jhkGAGCcFRQ_u7jFTojJ2XKbXbb76yC02jbu3AGXU/s1600/IMG_0915.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKFpN12nX3n15wAeH8r0kF-i-RSIGMg-2ndZXhv7fI4hPzvDeq6UT8UlYjCIypoxQljLMYX2Wk126oemHI1iK_Z3U-3G3_QYbT9_jhkGAGCcFRQ_u7jFTojJ2XKbXbb76yC02jbu3AGXU/s320/IMG_0915.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY<br />CROSSWORD CONSTRUCTOR AND BLOGGER<br /><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">LAURA BRAUNSTEIN!</span><br />Check out her awesome puzzles that celebrate women<br />by clicking <a href="https://inkubatorcrosswords.com/">HERE</a><br /><br />To sponsor a beer, click <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=oHbkZo6mCcP-gNd5QdTGsEByrcAC7aL-zCUi5eMiNfnajZFeQp8UQpjKcP9__Iq6B0jQbm&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Still, I found a wonderful dinner (food has been fantastic... I don't understand why England has such a poor reputation for its cuisine), and a local beer. </span></div>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And- when I approached a couple of young guys to ask where I could find an open grocery store- I found company for the night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">"A grocery store? At this hour?" one said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I explained that I needed a bar of soap. I had left mine in the shower stall of the last hostel I'd stayed at. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">"Soap! He needs soap!" the other shouted. "We're not from here, mate. We're from Wales, and we have no clue where we are! And you don't need no soap. What you need is a pint! Follow us, then."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Okay. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqLYRT14fV8qxdBo5Sytklr6pUEc5Fng0bpLLd3S36Vm0_zJmiFhVymMbi-k8Yh7I_qc_edVXG-LP409do80WYlnY3Uv07GFhyphenhyphenJENC2IJo6PYjcmvATxSQVBDEIUiyznF5Gib2Nnz0aSk/s1600/IMG_0920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqLYRT14fV8qxdBo5Sytklr6pUEc5Fng0bpLLd3S36Vm0_zJmiFhVymMbi-k8Yh7I_qc_edVXG-LP409do80WYlnY3Uv07GFhyphenhyphenJENC2IJo6PYjcmvATxSQVBDEIUiyznF5Gib2Nnz0aSk/s320/IMG_0920.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steve, me, and Rich (left to right)</td></tr>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">We exchanged only the briefest introductions before Rich and Steve approached two girls on their way home after a night out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Rich greeted them enthusiastically. "Hello! We need soap and a pint. We're not from here, and we need some direction. Come along, then!" And with that, we were a group of five. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Both girls were named Kate, one of whom had her gums pierced. Rich differentiated them by dubbing one "Gummy Kate" and the other "Normal Kate."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">"How do you all know one another," Normal Kate asked. </span></div>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">"Oh we don't know anything about Jim a'tall!" Steve said, "Other than his name is Jim and he's absolutely filthy!" </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdjV-JBWL6p5V2Iw0rsih6RcRsUMsqfw64401K-uDtUBSWsY88-z98lPKquaFt4ZGI2s2K815fUCiqCUQx7tdOxsCfSW4jwAxQbbo6SDWIzSP0216PxJrVmcI2Y5BZbO3bdByiiiwfgM/s1600/IMG_0928.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdjV-JBWL6p5V2Iw0rsih6RcRsUMsqfw64401K-uDtUBSWsY88-z98lPKquaFt4ZGI2s2K815fUCiqCUQx7tdOxsCfSW4jwAxQbbo6SDWIzSP0216PxJrVmcI2Y5BZbO3bdByiiiwfgM/s320/IMG_0928.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some can go all night like a lumberjack.<br />I can last 11 seconds.</td></tr>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Eventually they found out I was from New York and I was on a cycle tour. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">"You cycled all the way here from New York, did you?" Gummy Kate asked. Sometimes people say this in jest. Gummy Kate was serious. As Rich noted later on, "She's a bit thick, that Gummy Kate..."</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">We found an open corner shop, and when I emerged with soap, all four burst into jubilant applause. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">The Kates pointed us in the direction of what they called "a fun pub" and took their leave. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Gloucester on a Friday night is empty, and Rich, Steve, and I became the only patrons in an expansive night club where there were three times as many employees working. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">"How does this place stay open?" Rich asked. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">I called it a night after one more pint, but not before taking a ride on the free mechanical bull at the rear of the club. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Rich stayed on for 38 seconds. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">Steve made it to 24. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">I lasted 11. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">And for the second time that day, I was thrown to the ground. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"><span style="font-size: large;">P.S.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL8Hseiu9tjTWf4aCyturHo3oejva4-Vn1jN-D_e67EQpL8zaPENFHXPbPDKxlqZ0Z91-awBWYVSqasEAk9XqlXE3FQQcMO551JTLmlBq4Hnts9MtoQ88es2ca2QWhlRRxjlYw8fzWl0g/s1600/IMG_0902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL8Hseiu9tjTWf4aCyturHo3oejva4-Vn1jN-D_e67EQpL8zaPENFHXPbPDKxlqZ0Z91-awBWYVSqasEAk9XqlXE3FQQcMO551JTLmlBq4Hnts9MtoQ88es2ca2QWhlRRxjlYw8fzWl0g/s400/IMG_0902.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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</span><br />
<div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Does the zebra have a hump? Like a camel?</i></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption"><div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Or is it being humped as it's crossing the road?</i></span></div>
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</style>Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-67121373664769610572019-07-19T03:26:00.000-07:002019-07-19T03:26:41.442-07:00The Philosopher's Den<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 7 (Glastonbury to Bristol)</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Today: 37.8 miles (3 of which were walked)</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 347.4 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2582 today, 19,830.2 total</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Graffiti in Bristol</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Philosopher #1:</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> "Because the robots have a different mind than the…."</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Philosopher #2: </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">How can you prove me I have no soul?"</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Philosopher #1: </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Uhhh... essentially what we perceive as a soul is the conglomerate of everything that happens to us before we become self aware…"</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Philosopher #2: </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But for example a plant, is the principle of life…"</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Philosopher #1: </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But we can move and plants can’t..."</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Philosopher #2: </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But..."</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Philosopher #1: </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And they don't breathe…"</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Philosopher #2: </span></b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">But I think of many things that..."</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Philosopher #1: </span></b></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yeah </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know what what you mean. But human beings are robots. If you look at the bible…"</span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Philosopher's Den at Bristol Backpackers Hostel</td></tr>
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conversation behind me. I figured I'd just transcribe a bit instead. I have a new appreciation for stenographers.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">This is not an atypical conversation in a hostel's common area at midnight. I’m accustomed to staying in hostels. Quite enjoy it actually. But this place… I don’t belong here. As Bristol is a large city, and there are no real camping facilities, I should’ve just sprung for a halfway decent hotel room. But nope! Here I am. Twenty-one pounds lighter (a reference to the cost of the bed, not my weight), and in a confusing mess of people who have either taken up permanent residency or are considering permanent residency. The Lost Souls Club. I totally get it. I do. I’m just a little too gray around the beard to fit in.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The eclectic personalities here are somewhat reminiscent of the patchouli-scented town of Glastonbury, which I left this morning. Last night, the streets were empty, giving the eerie appearance of a well-kept ghost town. This morning? Let’s just say I’m finally working my way through the <i>Harry Potter</i> series, and I now have a reference point. By 9:00 AM the streets were abuzz with people in capes, cloaks, and fishnets. Stores like The Cat & Cauldron (great pub name!) and The Goddess & The Green Man (even better!) and Man Myth & Magik (needs work!) were hawking kitsch to anyone and everyone.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The famous Glastonbury Tor, visible on my way out of town</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Not that there’s anything wrong with that. In fact, I quite like these kinds of towns. But in an observation sort of way as opposed to a wallet sort of way.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I purchased a cup of coffee at The Winking Turtle, updated my blog in the town square, and<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>visited the post office to send two things to my sister’s address: The latest John Grisham paperback, which has been taking up space in my luggage since the train ride, and my Camelbak, which for some reason I always think I need on these trips (I don't). She doesn’t know about this delivery. It’ll be a surprise. I didn’t even include an explanation or a postcard. Just those two things. Imagine getting that package.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6tslB8QcCg0bu3CDOovR2U4HQGnZmIkyFuGbOM3IB3eyMrKSSX3IoIccoQJrwdKdU7rhIoBdQbNt68rqQWrA_PdttqpzEIzzlmume0DmM4Q63fFOmuCiWPonfbDzXO6GvxLlOTI_2wU/s1600/IMG_0883+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6tslB8QcCg0bu3CDOovR2U4HQGnZmIkyFuGbOM3IB3eyMrKSSX3IoIccoQJrwdKdU7rhIoBdQbNt68rqQWrA_PdttqpzEIzzlmume0DmM4Q63fFOmuCiWPonfbDzXO6GvxLlOTI_2wU/s320/IMG_0883+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entryway to The Bishop's Palace</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sounds like quick chores, right?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Didn’t head out until after 12 PM.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It didn’t matter much. I’ve been happy following the guide’s relatively short traffic-free stages, being in no particular hurry to just “get it done.” And today’s plan was a breezy 37 miles.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Perfect day. Easy distance. Not a care in the world. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4dYgUmlVQchSG8gzif5y6Fn1-yNaOVHW6x2Ai6JrQYZDW50uOj3agVN4oRcbulnC4E8Uyo2eOL3Hu83qdRA0IU6on9BCZ4JgVoHXUPHEGDOGnVryctwpcxsVc3ekTci_0diz0TqYMBEQ/s1600/IMG_0886+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4dYgUmlVQchSG8gzif5y6Fn1-yNaOVHW6x2Ai6JrQYZDW50uOj3agVN4oRcbulnC4E8Uyo2eOL3Hu83qdRA0IU6on9BCZ4JgVoHXUPHEGDOGnVryctwpcxsVc3ekTci_0diz0TqYMBEQ/s320/IMG_0886+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cathedral in center of town</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">My route took me on an intricate path </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">through the remarkable city of Wells, which is billed as "England's Smallest City." It features stunning architecture (The Bishop's Palace), a beautiful cathedral, and Europe's oldest surviving residential street from the 14th century, known as Vicars' Close.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">On my way out, three touring cyclists were on a corner, trying to navigate the maze of a route in the opposite direction. After pointing them the correct way, I noticed one had the same bell on his bike as I did. I mentioned mine hasn't worked since it rusted on Day #1 of my Trans-America tour on a rainy day in Virginia. He looked at it briefly, and then violently bent the striker. "Now try it," he said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Clang!</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I rang that bell joyfully for the next quiet mile. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzDs-w5VucvXZh41kVoudOkrEpsNd-mjLFxuUgAFnr9111VEZqVmYDAfmW6FHyYF0paZ6CCsgcbvA4UMKxgOS_zcitT8TYLNrqtg9HzZxYEUU6YaANipWa_CTGMWmFeqaGVtXYPjCXztU/s1600/IMG_E0899.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzDs-w5VucvXZh41kVoudOkrEpsNd-mjLFxuUgAFnr9111VEZqVmYDAfmW6FHyYF0paZ6CCsgcbvA4UMKxgOS_zcitT8TYLNrqtg9HzZxYEUU6YaANipWa_CTGMWmFeqaGVtXYPjCXztU/s320/IMG_E0899.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's Elevation Profile</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6sJatnPMcGLQMla5rA9ssZ3t4YK8eRAqLwihbgg5a_Tu-h_7ItEzob5Kq1JWn5QanYTDrBQE8djpjMh7QyAwLQ-C0Wc8qBE4rKYTE5-baiXgso3a6E-3Zq21DNuMjidgcciBJKJT2gE0/s1600/IMG_0887.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6sJatnPMcGLQMla5rA9ssZ3t4YK8eRAqLwihbgg5a_Tu-h_7ItEzob5Kq1JWn5QanYTDrBQE8djpjMh7QyAwLQ-C0Wc8qBE4rKYTE5-baiXgso3a6E-3Zq21DNuMjidgcciBJKJT2gE0/s320/IMG_0887.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from atop the Mendip Hills</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The bulk of my energy today was spent climbing the Mendip Hills. Take a look at the elevation profile. See that camel's hump? It's as steep as it looks. The cyclist who fixed my bell warned me not to climb it too quickly because it was important to enjoy the views on the way up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Now there's some advice I can take. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DeXPbwJCN5keUwODreQsnGlBjinc2N-2Gz1qX67fUHzOPXghHTfuo9AmvsvnMEV51G7bJT0tcJNIbAduHTYkvgVSOHFGJGa5Hqgw6sU5Dzgl_A0PyAMjVMqlQtdKg2AJo5UwW3Po8lw/s1600/IMG_0888+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DeXPbwJCN5keUwODreQsnGlBjinc2N-2Gz1qX67fUHzOPXghHTfuo9AmvsvnMEV51G7bJT0tcJNIbAduHTYkvgVSOHFGJGa5Hqgw6sU5Dzgl_A0PyAMjVMqlQtdKg2AJo5UwW3Po8lw/s200/IMG_0888+%25281%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First flat of the trip.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">It would've been a near perfect day had somebody not decided to place a thumbtack on the path three miles from the day's destination. I understand a stray nail, or glass, or a nasty thorn, but a thumbtack? My mood deflated as quickly as the tire's inner tube. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I had purchased this tire in Prague on my last tour, and I have had no need to remove it since. While I've had no problem replacing tubes in the past, I could not for the life of me get this one off of the rim. After fifteen sweaty minutes, I gave up, favoring a three mile walk instead. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSqWEI_lpvV2XEWerQn_s0-zU60m3TrMC6AZdYMYCUXaRn6zNCWwawoHEE3I6w1MR1_qMCTQxVlK64vMm_ak7q2Mvhl5Zu7X_eDUumSdtqlC_UNhPIpnuoED9vt3Cm7SrEIgDuihyphenhyphenRRg/s1600/IMG_0893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRSqWEI_lpvV2XEWerQn_s0-zU60m3TrMC6AZdYMYCUXaRn6zNCWwawoHEE3I6w1MR1_qMCTQxVlK64vMm_ak7q2Mvhl5Zu7X_eDUumSdtqlC_UNhPIpnuoED9vt3Cm7SrEIgDuihyphenhyphenRRg/s320/IMG_0893.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paddleboard lessons in Bristol</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Worse things have happened. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Sure I had to haul my bike up a few sets of stairs, but there wasn't much to complain about walking along Bristol Harbor and savoring the atmosphere of lively Bristol, England. I'll worry about it tomorrow. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbV0RyrOqvbPaZUYvXIglzJpSCvZfOU3T9b5objE7j2GyHjVa6iUzJU4SDU5zzt_9NqfRZ1oa8UKBPo-AB9tGULbFCW-gPpQ9lh89xZUG1Qc6C0PskLULl7n4-DcVPWZ9YeOrHSMWpVGo/s1600/IMG_0896.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbV0RyrOqvbPaZUYvXIglzJpSCvZfOU3T9b5objE7j2GyHjVa6iUzJU4SDU5zzt_9NqfRZ1oa8UKBPo-AB9tGULbFCW-gPpQ9lh89xZUG1Qc6C0PskLULl7n4-DcVPWZ9YeOrHSMWpVGo/s320/IMG_0896.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY<br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: magenta;">ALEXA BALKISSOON!</span><br />(I even spelled it right)<br /><br />Click <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=623IhmvBJJ0doxL_XOGVPFeYeMmHduEkruFWqiXUalNKHy1w7hQqmQRe-vR73C5vdU6wkG&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a> to sponsor a beer!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The philosophers behind me have gone to bed, a sure sign that this day is officially over. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">P.S. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: georgia, times new roman, serif;"><i>I don't know who this Derril character is, but I'm on the lookout for him.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirBKMFj2G6qoH6ffR1B0wZUZYoZDyumziIg87Zst248c6XhVKau4D51C-b56k4G4CUK1iim9Npxa5gWxJaZhvKGWeUb3KIJYmJ5JMyovr0NchI2BTsxE8E4NQKGGNl5sKrRJstAO6z1Q8/s1600/IMG_0809+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirBKMFj2G6qoH6ffR1B0wZUZYoZDyumziIg87Zst248c6XhVKau4D51C-b56k4G4CUK1iim9Npxa5gWxJaZhvKGWeUb3KIJYmJ5JMyovr0NchI2BTsxE8E4NQKGGNl5sKrRJstAO6z1Q8/s320/IMG_0809+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-27097131150536153132019-07-18T03:22:00.002-07:002019-07-18T19:09:51.739-07:00A Full English Breakfast<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 6 (Dulverton to Glastonbury)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 9.5 mph</span><br />
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Today: 65.7 miles</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 309.6 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2385.2 today, 17,248.2 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Somewhat challenging start, rough but easy end</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkW7KSSR2egLc149R2MWNm7hEG8VUjFsXjhLE_jDGy7xs-n0vNP6GWnWH1npAvZlyd9ByrDzUnI4CX3GrzRP9_YJhvStsZnzyG0HqzWkbQvkr_wBtLXJ0_5WkN4dFbItUJoMABSSTmueQ/s1600/IMG_0862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkW7KSSR2egLc149R2MWNm7hEG8VUjFsXjhLE_jDGy7xs-n0vNP6GWnWH1npAvZlyd9ByrDzUnI4CX3GrzRP9_YJhvStsZnzyG0HqzWkbQvkr_wBtLXJ0_5WkN4dFbItUJoMABSSTmueQ/s400/IMG_0862.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Graffiti on the side of the Brewhouse Theater in Taunton</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">A full English breakfast consists of a heaping portion of <i>each</i> of the following:</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdn-nF1ekmxO65NwDA6d_LAOOa9sOENAZ7rIhDwmy0agx3lrkDD9hCJCBwxGtpz8E8LuF-Imp2fuQPdhrI7NtE5lZneGGGCt7GdrM3VKb2RsNbCZmP3rp4c85eHsMSRLwC70kp7RwNoXg/s1600/Full+English.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdn-nF1ekmxO65NwDA6d_LAOOa9sOENAZ7rIhDwmy0agx3lrkDD9hCJCBwxGtpz8E8LuF-Imp2fuQPdhrI7NtE5lZneGGGCt7GdrM3VKb2RsNbCZmP3rp4c85eHsMSRLwC70kp7RwNoXg/s1600/Full+English.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stock Photo- Accurate Representation</td></tr>
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<li><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Fried Eggs</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sausages</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Back Bacon</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Tomatoes</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mushrooms</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fried Bread </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hash Browns</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Baked Beans</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Regular White Bread</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The pub where I had dinner advertised breakfast beginning at 8 AM. I was there at 7:30. Not so much for the food- I really don't eat breakfast all that often- but to hijack their Wifi, the password for which I had gleaned while enjoying a pint the night prior. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Still... you have to order something, right?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The waitress didn't really give me any options, and there was no menu.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Full English, then?" she asked when she came to take my order. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Do you have a smaller version?" I had heard of the legendary portions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She looked disappointed. "Half then," she said, and walked off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That was my first mistake of the day. Even with the reduced size, after I finished my belly grumbled uncomfortably, asking <i>Why on earth would you do that?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I ignored it and set off from Bampton, essentially starting the day six miles in my favor since I had actually travelled a bit beyond Dulverton yesterday. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirfYX5I2P99LWEpIToNG1EBurSiGNMg50OhQTZjo9-qzknUFRre6cLsIkdHfNbkBKG3WfWfBwZJaZJV05ZNGlCa-dx-Tv4mpYpI1G8Mbe-SP2f25QuxTcIuIrRct_UzisAwx-CNmAw8Do/s1600/IMG_0878.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirfYX5I2P99LWEpIToNG1EBurSiGNMg50OhQTZjo9-qzknUFRre6cLsIkdHfNbkBKG3WfWfBwZJaZJV05ZNGlCa-dx-Tv4mpYpI1G8Mbe-SP2f25QuxTcIuIrRct_UzisAwx-CNmAw8Do/s320/IMG_0878.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's Elevation Profile</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGsvZMiehG_8fRgvFg0EEUcyg395PQWgG0q5pVT2Ls26pK-cj5SBCENS3CRU8FMdQ-LL2PlXQYc5FlW91FxfKlmtPo3j7bOfH84thnFncdAN4QL0j-3mllYZmAV-EysemOM5T1jiWhwmM/s1600/IMG_0855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGsvZMiehG_8fRgvFg0EEUcyg395PQWgG0q5pVT2Ls26pK-cj5SBCENS3CRU8FMdQ-LL2PlXQYc5FlW91FxfKlmtPo3j7bOfH84thnFncdAN4QL0j-3mllYZmAV-EysemOM5T1jiWhwmM/s320/IMG_0855.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elderly women outpacing me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">According to the guide, the climbs around Bampton are "...nothing as demanding as in previous stages." I call bullshit on that. Although the guide is remarkably well-written, the climb on the way out of Bampton was absurd. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At one point, it was all I could do to keep pace with two elderly pedestrians in front of me. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Another touring cyclist was pushing her bike up a steep section. I passed her only to cycle a couple hundred more feet before giving up myself, the grade undoubtedly north of 20%. For the first time in three years (since a small section of road in Illinois that I couldn't manage), I was walking. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At least I had company. I waited for the cyclist behind me and we pushed our loaded bikes together, both of us equally out of breath. We didn't exchange names, but her French accent led me to believe it was Simone. She certainly seemed like a Simone. </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Trouble was brewing when we approached the top. I pretended like I had some business to take care of, and Simone mounted her bicycle and journeyed on. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I counted a slow ten after she disappeared around the nearby bend in the road... then <i>SPLAT!</i></span></div>
<div>
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I suppose since I experienced the half version of the traditional breakfast twice that, indeed, I truly did have a Full English. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I'll spare you the picture</span>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikOI8t3Z7qj0BXob1yxiFORdil2TqFN1M2v6Xj0-5DbQAsqma4owNwiYAqeMPxy6rR04xy5VWnVTWnUhTmzzqX4IpfcDE7R26D-YjjGIkfDZgcxaoIcf25zzJhdfQXEXD7UxWxfZM62QU/s1600/IMG_0858.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikOI8t3Z7qj0BXob1yxiFORdil2TqFN1M2v6Xj0-5DbQAsqma4owNwiYAqeMPxy6rR04xy5VWnVTWnUhTmzzqX4IpfcDE7R26D-YjjGIkfDZgcxaoIcf25zzJhdfQXEXD7UxWxfZM62QU/s320/IMG_0858.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hedges</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A couple minutes later, I remounted the bike (feeling quite refreshed), unaware that Simone hadn't journeyed on at all. There is no way she didn't hear me dramatically retching a mere fifty feet away. I asked her if she had a breath mint. She didn't. I moved on. Thankfully, that was the last of our encounters. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The rest of the first half felt like I was in a winding hedge maze of sorts, the view never quite changing. To the left: a tall hedge. To the right: a tall hedge. Hedges all the way in to the larger-than-expected city of Taunton. </span></div>
<div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHuQA0OxDnzSry2ZzhaB8d-qL1_kWQZ4HWy1lhMiPar4seB7uUxfkNYyzgQI41r7tNqnGzqTw730lJn8KxC6M-5LhVVkDlOBSRFFhodtxWCEqa7Y4Z_Ha-zljgvugkvY7aYFW5-6wmrU/s1600/IMG_0866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHuQA0OxDnzSry2ZzhaB8d-qL1_kWQZ4HWy1lhMiPar4seB7uUxfkNYyzgQI41r7tNqnGzqTw730lJn8KxC6M-5LhVVkDlOBSRFFhodtxWCEqa7Y4Z_Ha-zljgvugkvY7aYFW5-6wmrU/s320/IMG_0866.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Along the Taunton Canal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Taunton's sprawling layout of cycle lanes, roads, and footpaths eventually gave way to a single gravel path, parallel to the Taunton Canal. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was pleasant, for about the first three miles. And although I was grateful for the reprieve from steep climbing, by the tenth mile, my rump was rhythmically tapping out S.O.S in Morse code. </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Everything began to look the same as the path steadily became less and less groomed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYaDjGLwjp80gLrIg7aYFkHmeEOQU8FDs9Sol7z4OVjPYBUhbmYTNfGcKleSt6EDY5FDYPP4NBikI6VdYKI-CwEf4HLZW6L5T-7agFOM7mYiU9obDYUTFl8UKNkim1z_Lgj1LFWWpwSs/s1600/IMG_0870.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYaDjGLwjp80gLrIg7aYFkHmeEOQU8FDs9Sol7z4OVjPYBUhbmYTNfGcKleSt6EDY5FDYPP4NBikI6VdYKI-CwEf4HLZW6L5T-7agFOM7mYiU9obDYUTFl8UKNkim1z_Lgj1LFWWpwSs/s320/IMG_0870.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A local told me to go this way. I swear.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Eventually, I made it to the less-than-attractive town of Bridgwater. It's one of those towns that appears</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> under permanent construction (like Port Jervis close to where I live), and confusing detours are everywhere. </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My GPS (Garmin) came to life, alerting <i>OFF COURSE! </i>But there was nothing I could do about it other than try to follow the detour and hope the routes would sync back together eventually. And while I somehow navigated myself to a dead end underneath a highway overpass, I did end up on Route 3 once again. </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Curiously enough, my Garmin didn't say <i>COURSE FOUND!</i> as it normally would. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">No matter. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I could clearly see that I was traveling along the cycle route. </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">That was my second mistake. </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8NBIL2doDWGbNvrX845sVNODiGB9CNKBLTNyE2Oadtbnd-H2xvEDxpQ_KnCzDwdR7YyORqsdU47pjrMigtUogyNHCr3kmIVIfLOaJJ5o15ltNAQ6ggllq9uUvK77z8PpNeN296MvLjo/s1600/IMG_0872.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8NBIL2doDWGbNvrX845sVNODiGB9CNKBLTNyE2Oadtbnd-H2xvEDxpQ_KnCzDwdR7YyORqsdU47pjrMigtUogyNHCr3kmIVIfLOaJJ5o15ltNAQ6ggllq9uUvK77z8PpNeN296MvLjo/s320/IMG_0872.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oops.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Perhaps I should've been a bit more curious as to why the canal was now on the other side of me as I traveled, having no recollection of crossing it. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Perhaps I should've been more suspicious of the man fishing who looked awfully similar to the man I had seen fishing a few miles back.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But when I saw the sign that said "Taunton 8 Miles" pointing in the direction I was heading, I stopped dead. That sign <i>should</i> read "Taunton 18 Miles" and be pointing the other direction. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I reluctantly turned my bicycle 180 degrees and the Garmin cheered. <i>COURSE FOUND!</i></span></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had just retraced my steps and gone backwards about ten miles. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Garmin is great. But some types of stupid just can't be fixed. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEh_6DC60GNJkotD813Xnae-zVpHHaXmBMtRmQVwddK4achQLwv8O2vnWVqZ5tSXrWOlrAiTKYwW1F_UZzQI5kBRUMoH-tD0nirD0wBH4hCVmh_QwUP7epJvdhFD1UohiNJ2AtoOXI1Gg/s1600/IMG_0876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEh_6DC60GNJkotD813Xnae-zVpHHaXmBMtRmQVwddK4achQLwv8O2vnWVqZ5tSXrWOlrAiTKYwW1F_UZzQI5kBRUMoH-tD0nirD0wBH4hCVmh_QwUP7epJvdhFD1UohiNJ2AtoOXI1Gg/s320/IMG_0876.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Glastonbury</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While tour cycling, there are few things worse than going the wrong direction. Ten miles isn't ten miles. It's twenty. That's at least two hours. And when you're anticipating your arrival in the early evening, and anticipating a relaxing night at the pub, it's soul crushing. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lest you think I'm the only one who has done this, in 2016, during the annual bicycle race across America, Australian distance racer Sarah Hammond was set to be the first woman to win. With a comfortable fifty mile lead nearing the end, she took a break, got back on her bike, and <a href="https://road.cc/content/news/192917-leading-trans-am-race-woman-takes-wrong-turn-loses-lead">headed off in the completely wrong direction.</a> Sure- I grumbled about my mistake at length- I'm over it now. But Hammond? I guarantee few days go by where she doesn't think about that. She finished sixth. </span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYesxBLVhPrcKvwp_HCG9eJlMWmfHdPpnRhrlJO9Xlexdr0GQhoXdgHEahe4teQHGXOuGE9gx7eZFeu3JWEGeO7_ZsWy3QoAKVZIvXulMzgXafQRPUTNYd-sg0ak7fwq0u-QAmTx1Dm68/s1600/IMG_0873.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYesxBLVhPrcKvwp_HCG9eJlMWmfHdPpnRhrlJO9Xlexdr0GQhoXdgHEahe4teQHGXOuGE9gx7eZFeu3JWEGeO7_ZsWy3QoAKVZIvXulMzgXafQRPUTNYd-sg0ak7fwq0u-QAmTx1Dm68/s320/IMG_0873.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY<br />
CROSSWORD MAVEN/BLOGGER<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">AMY REYNALDO!</span><br />
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Having no desire to go back to Bridgwater, I hoped Google Maps would save me by finding an alternate route. It did. Along main roads. It was miserable. I was angry with myself. It started to rain. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But it was paved. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And my arse was A.O.K. with that. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Made it to the quiet but famous town of Glasbury (think Woodstock, NY or Salem, MA) before nightfall, and made it to the pub before closing, where </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">English breakfast is served all day.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I went with the curry. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">P.S. </span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>One of these signs understands the language that dogs speak.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The other does not.</i></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6EWKKxn_J131YeQdLklIjac4MltzsLtfbr1Xeo_EcOGrpVN7eUIUoj2fQTLAOeNAb7fyOjRDCdnCyfPQ1X_UqhhZ4FNuyq2SqcfsUyLlRsmy8GmECvaEDZEI8b4n822TOfRnwUFQDr-c/s1600/IMG_0841+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6EWKKxn_J131YeQdLklIjac4MltzsLtfbr1Xeo_EcOGrpVN7eUIUoj2fQTLAOeNAb7fyOjRDCdnCyfPQ1X_UqhhZ4FNuyq2SqcfsUyLlRsmy8GmECvaEDZEI8b4n822TOfRnwUFQDr-c/s400/IMG_0841+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQlJbncGMdYtCR8OWpBMXK8k5urvwBBJ57IjypQKiu-ldwC-jMLErPMU1NjfY_RdzvEjkTJwmffdhOzPG-WeHgxMIbojkm-VBKsegCzqY7Z60IRl0YTroplJap2az1BwHP5lq3XcjY5E0/s1600/IMG_0869.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQlJbncGMdYtCR8OWpBMXK8k5urvwBBJ57IjypQKiu-ldwC-jMLErPMU1NjfY_RdzvEjkTJwmffdhOzPG-WeHgxMIbojkm-VBKsegCzqY7Z60IRl0YTroplJap2az1BwHP5lq3XcjY5E0/s400/IMG_0869.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>That's better, sign #2.</i></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-24395534515970916662019-07-17T02:35:00.000-07:002019-07-17T06:50:01.081-07:00Marking Time<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 5 (Barnstaple to Dulverton)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 8 mph</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Today: 39.5 miles</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 243.9 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2942.9 today, 14,863 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Challenging beginning- smooth ending</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Barnstaple</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Had I not accidentally left my helmet in the Barnstaple cycle shop, I never would’ve met Mark Cole.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I had gone back to get it after leaving it on the counter during my purchase of a granola bar. While I was there, I casually asked if anyone knew where to find the entrance to Cycle Route 3. I could’ve found it myself within five minutes or so, but I figured I could shave off a few seconds by initially heading in the correct direction.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mark, a regular customer at the shop, conferred with the staff.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“That’s down Bear Road a bit, isn’t it?” he said. “I’m heading that way. Why don’t you follow me?”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I hesitated for a moment. Mark had all the markings of a serious cyclist. Trim. Fit. Tough skin. Snazzy outfit. Well-defined calves.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> And (no joke) a green saddle. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark Cole</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">He also had exactly two items in the back pockets of his cycling jersey: A banana and an air pump. When you see cyclists carrying a banana and an air pump in their jersey pockets, you know they’re the real deal. In contrast, mine are full of granola bar wrappers, old receipts, some American change, and a few stray Gummi Bears.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I warned him I’d be a bit slow, gesturing not to my beer gut, but rather to the luggage on the back of my bike. He paid no mind.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">It didn’t much matter anyway. He was only going to show me where the entrance was to my route. It couldn’t be more than a block or two away, right?</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">What followed was a nearly 20 mile test of endurance.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I started losing sight of Mark during the mild climb up Bear Road, and I’d pretty much <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chasing Mark</td></tr>
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assumed he’d forgotten I was following. At the time, I was thankful for that. There was no way I was going to keep up with this guy, and I didn’t want to hold him back. We were in two very different leagues, and he knew it.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">However, Mark was waiting at the top of the hill, with a warm and patient smile as I slugged my way up the last couple hundred feet.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">He started to give me directions so I could continue on my own, referencing my guidebook and explaining alternative better routes. I nodded with half-understanding, which he seemed to sense.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Right then, follow me,” he said, and took off.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I called out the warning again that I’d be holding him back.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Take your time. No worries. I had a big ride on Sunday and could use something relaxing.” In no way did this come across as condescending or sarcastic. He is a genuinely congenial person. </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Just <a href="http://greensaddle.blogspot.com/2019/07/my-new-cycle-partner.html">yesterday</a>, I mentioned how much I dislike having a cycle partner. This, however, was different. Mark turned into my tour guide… and my personal trainer, taking me just out of my comfort zone.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> I pushed through all the spots where I normally would've stopped for a breather so as to embarrass myself as little as possible.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">When the road flattened out, we talked about things mostly unrelated to cycling. Mark is a recently retired primary school teacher. He’s not a big fan of the current trends in English and American politics. He belongs to a cycling group called the Hell-Cat Mud Wrestlers, which is as intimidating as it sounds.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">He could not have been more patient or amicable as I huffed and puffed up climb after climb.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I’m pretending not to show how out of breath I am,” I managed at one point.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2bVllB4QTXS34g3FssTjueIUgk82QH-5SGvBvzK8lOO5aXgIG6cmSSA5yDee_-R38XygLb-8zUNANsOFd4d_hZid1rxbw-Dmq9HX7FZ_hwakY9Rm0Y3cYm54LdBx1VibWrnXsEs6zEpk/s1600/IMG_0853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2bVllB4QTXS34g3FssTjueIUgk82QH-5SGvBvzK8lOO5aXgIG6cmSSA5yDee_-R38XygLb-8zUNANsOFd4d_hZid1rxbw-Dmq9HX7FZ_hwakY9Rm0Y3cYm54LdBx1VibWrnXsEs6zEpk/s320/IMG_0853.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's route. You can clearly see the the difference<br />
in difficulty between the two halves. </td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Mark laughed politely. The subtext: <i>You’re not hiding it very well.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">There were a few more points where I thought Mark and I would part ways, but he had other plans. “I’ll see you up the next little bit,” he said at least four or five times. The subtext: <i>Someone’s gotta get your fat American ass in gear. Might as well be me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">This meant we were climbing to the top of Exmoor, which, at over 1500 feet, is the highest climb I’ve had thus far. Also, with about 800 feet of ascent in just over two miles, it is the steepest.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Halfway up, Mark (who does not sweat as far as I can tell) took a video of me as I reached a brief plateau. I hope to get my hands on that video someday, but it can’t be pretty. This picture just about sums up our contrasting moods:</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUD07ODXw5g2agI9YRCwJqigXLDSzPmfToL6-Rsb__TpTLJsMPhPWfoCCwXuI7txEW5zUepW6rOO8l5gc-wKBwkl1R6QupEFVEu06IJipDto0tNjwFK9SGD06wknwcJWjMfr9qdRcqRe8/s1600/IMG_0832+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUD07ODXw5g2agI9YRCwJqigXLDSzPmfToL6-Rsb__TpTLJsMPhPWfoCCwXuI7txEW5zUepW6rOO8l5gc-wKBwkl1R6QupEFVEu06IJipDto0tNjwFK9SGD06wknwcJWjMfr9qdRcqRe8/s400/IMG_0832+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mark, fresh as a daisy, on the left.<br />
Me, ready to vomit, on the right.</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The steepest bit was yet to come, and I jokingly said “I’ll see you in forty-five minutes or so” without realizing how accurate that timeframe would turn out to be.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPmHbgPSu6U1T_vVuZtbGWS-isGHdT4nonUlQMt8JtfMFFafX0YFQ60Vn7nwQ5GENDSGIQvuaINLV2w0AHzj63yiE5O9-VG60kkaD77LcqD9zwk-wAIQ2f_m2Q-5rRyvtb_Sji6NU2b8/s1600/IMG_0833.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPmHbgPSu6U1T_vVuZtbGWS-isGHdT4nonUlQMt8JtfMFFafX0YFQ60Vn7nwQ5GENDSGIQvuaINLV2w0AHzj63yiE5O9-VG60kkaD77LcqD9zwk-wAIQ2f_m2Q-5rRyvtb_Sji6NU2b8/s320/IMG_0833.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View on the way up to Exmoor</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">As we headed off to the peak, Mark easily surged ahead, and a convertible with a few attractive girls came from the other direction, carefully navigating the one-lane road. “Are you trying to catch up to him?” a passenger asked.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I quickly nodded to the rear of my bicycle. “That bastard is making me carry all of his stuff,” I said, quickly saving my last shred of integrity. It got the laugh I was hoping for.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I couldn’t outpace the biting flies up the 16%-17% grade for the next mile, and I have the welts to prove it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTSxK9PtGg0wZqW74kRExIX96HsYA46Lpa8WTg4BydRWx26CHKacZajQ_DhabEye6C_SCQV4pnAsbBDGDbShomy0yP5l0rqhN2GlsoHtP4WisSAnF5Ifko0GaEmAUtNBp0wBkeoOb6-FE/s1600/IMG_0835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTSxK9PtGg0wZqW74kRExIX96HsYA46Lpa8WTg4BydRWx26CHKacZajQ_DhabEye6C_SCQV4pnAsbBDGDbShomy0yP5l0rqhN2GlsoHtP4WisSAnF5Ifko0GaEmAUtNBp0wBkeoOb6-FE/s320/IMG_0835.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The top of Exmoor</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Eventually though, I made it. Mark was circling around near the top, whistling a happy tune.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Sorry if I took you so far out of your way today,” I said, as we admired the view from the top of Exmoor. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Not at all,” he replied. “If anything, you gave me some purpose today. I was just going to putter around with no direction. The pleasure was mine.”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We shook hands, the sweat still dripping from my brow.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">“You made my day,” I said. And I meant it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picturesque Dulverton</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">With that, he took off for his hometown of Bideford, and I was left with a gentle ride to the picturesque town of Dulverton.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Without Mark, I went back to my lazy pace, allowing myself frequent stops and chats with passing tour cyclists, like the wonderful Dutch couple Alice and Erich, who are just days away from finishing my route in the opposite direction.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In fact, the second half of the ride took me just as long as the first, which makes no sense at all. Were Mark still leading, I probably would’ve had it completed in under an hour.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGy3KQwWdUGB1Ovl2Thym2Cg5OhiaGgoOQzgbx9UgbxzuO79zyoxZ5jvWpyQjxEhfB_b9AKNmFyFKfCkGYGSoh7CIIdxAhfha7uU2hJrLk2Nw9szMohzU5y39NQhbeEoQmfXUVg6Xlvg/s1600/IMG_0842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWGy3KQwWdUGB1Ovl2Thym2Cg5OhiaGgoOQzgbx9UgbxzuO79zyoxZ5jvWpyQjxEhfB_b9AKNmFyFKfCkGYGSoh7CIIdxAhfha7uU2hJrLk2Nw9szMohzU5y39NQhbeEoQmfXUVg6Xlvg/s320/IMG_0842.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY FELLOW TOURING CYCLIST<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">ERIK DOUDS!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: small;">Click <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=2A3_-6LqzrJ-N_9rpkm5A1mWz-XsOnwBKDwOuxv1IjyzvvOLadHe_NpLkHo02wNsLs6tbm&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a> to sponsor a beer. </span></span></td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">He’s the type of guy we all need. A strong leader. A welcoming personality. But one who will </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">show you that you have what it takes to do better. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">And, by God, you should try to do better.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Distance-wise, it was a short ride today, but the local Exmoor ale still felt deserved.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Looks like a long ride tomorrow.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Hopefully I can tap my inner Mark.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space">Air pump will stay on my bike's frame. But I'm gonna throw a banana in my back pocket.</span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space">P.S. </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><i>I may have lost one sock while doing a load of laundry,</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><i>but somehow I gained a pair of Granny Panties. </i></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><i>Winning. </i></span></span></span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-71507154551588984562019-07-16T02:08:00.002-07:002019-07-16T02:46:07.100-07:00My New Cycle Partner<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 4 (Bude to Barnstaple)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 9 mph</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Today: 55.5 miles</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 204.4 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2408.1 today, 11,920.5 total</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Difficulty level: Pretty easy- somewhat challenging start</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-_179nXxgb5pQ8XJ3W_11xvNHkvOScrq2voaMdNq3DX2oM1XL47HWB0E5XLiR_zz1hT0jNmEZPBe7IDBMZE6rDR-oK4eeCh4_pgZBRMKV4OfzFGaKRJxPJ7KYUXLyjSzofj34nofKj4/s1600/IMG_0811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-_179nXxgb5pQ8XJ3W_11xvNHkvOScrq2voaMdNq3DX2oM1XL47HWB0E5XLiR_zz1hT0jNmEZPBe7IDBMZE6rDR-oK4eeCh4_pgZBRMKV4OfzFGaKRJxPJ7KYUXLyjSzofj34nofKj4/s400/IMG_0811.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I have a new cycle partner.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Actually, it’s a virtual cycle partner. It’s a white dot that appears on my navigation system every morning when I program the day’s route. I am represented by a blue dot. The white dot and the blue dot start at the same time and we “race” to see who can get to the end of the route first. Its layout is slightly less sophisticated than an early Atari video game. When the white dot wins, a short sad digital song plays. When the blue dot wins, a short happy song plays.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I have not heard the happy song.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">In actuality, the white dot represents the person who originally recorded the route and shared it for others to use. You can literally see where he stopped for coffee breaks, or infer when he needed to take a leak on the side of the road. But when he’s riding, he’s pretty damn fast, and I always hear the sad tones that I lost the day’s challenge somewhere in the middle of my ride.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I’ll call him Chad. I’m sure that’s not his name. But he seems like a Chad.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The navigation system (called a Garmin) was a Christmas present from my mom. On past trips, I had relied on a combination of Google Maps (which is very often unreliable for cyclists) and actual maps (which are very often unreliable for someone who has difficulty reading actual maps).<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguYbrYZ-iTq1p0EEgaOiA9QiRTGSO5CfhuIrOxfQE4R_4JDN3WIfBume3zmDWBL7cR8IgFAGmFqvxhIeslNjI6socvXKW93xQ8V3pgcekL1WWD8Ds3Ak3Hbjt0TjO5a3xkobrViuNP77k/s1600/IMG_0827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguYbrYZ-iTq1p0EEgaOiA9QiRTGSO5CfhuIrOxfQE4R_4JDN3WIfBume3zmDWBL7cR8IgFAGmFqvxhIeslNjI6socvXKW93xQ8V3pgcekL1WWD8Ds3Ak3Hbjt0TjO5a3xkobrViuNP77k/s320/IMG_0827.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's Elevation Profile</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crappy pic...<br />
but see the blue dot?<br />
Wouldn't you be focused on<br />
the blue dot?</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The drawback to using a Garmin is that you can see exactly where you are on the elevation profile of the route, and no climb is a mystery. It’s difficult not to stare down at it constantly during a climb to know how far you are from the top. The element of surprise is lost, and you anticipate the next climb rather than simply enjoying a descent.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">On the other hand, if you stray a mere ten feet off the course due to a wrong turn, the Garmin goes apeshit, letting you know you’re 1) an idiot and 2) about to make a big mistake.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">This feature has saved me multiple times. Although the cycle route I’m taking is clearly marked with signage, the tiny stickers are often easy to miss.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTINmjtGXIGangiDhUhewflcquYzohgHrEDoUdOZGrmfilbaeQyhPxDtQYIfB0pnt5Vi9fcy_OFOm2wnJPlgRAeOeTtoFTr8tGRZssLvYtI-zmiBAIZN9MiCP8go-Oaaj2sBXdDAvj09Q/s1600/IMG_0810+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTINmjtGXIGangiDhUhewflcquYzohgHrEDoUdOZGrmfilbaeQyhPxDtQYIfB0pnt5Vi9fcy_OFOm2wnJPlgRAeOeTtoFTr8tGRZssLvYtI-zmiBAIZN9MiCP8go-Oaaj2sBXdDAvj09Q/s400/IMG_0810+%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you find the sign that tells you to go left here?</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I chose the right, as that seemed to be the road that I was on.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> But if you look very, very carefully, on the extreme left side of the picture there is a tiny sticker on a post telling you to go left. Were it not for that Garmin, I woulda continued straight on for miles. Chad gets it correct every time though, damn him. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'm just beginning to accept the severity of the hills here as I exit Cornwall in favor of Devon. Not that I'm solidly comfortable with them... that's still some time away... but accepting, sure. It's hard not to when they shoot up beautiful traffic-free country roads and meander pleasantly through the woods. And with the second half of the day following a simple rail trail known as the Tarka Trail, you have little excuse for bitching and moaning about the first half of the day. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh285bH0AYZfR427q-cvYSwPC2HAclGvKliDvUdfMYmJMiwim7bHt1jwgTlQV-Z-Hxlby4mveIOvot5JdvFcVJCCLznhMuJoZSbn0CDO7kljH1g8P-5yEpICSWVFa4JTMccT3FMBiRUNes/s1600/IMG_0815.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh285bH0AYZfR427q-cvYSwPC2HAclGvKliDvUdfMYmJMiwim7bHt1jwgTlQV-Z-Hxlby4mveIOvot5JdvFcVJCCLznhMuJoZSbn0CDO7kljH1g8P-5yEpICSWVFa4JTMccT3FMBiRUNes/s320/IMG_0815.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's an otter.</td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The Tarka Trail is rife with strange looking monuments, obelisks, and benches with crudely carved wooden figures sitting on them. At one of these, I stopped and joined two other cyclists staring up confusedly. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"What is that?" I asked. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"We've just determined it's an otter," one of the cyclists said. "Interesting, isn't it? But it must be since the Tarka Trail is named after a book called <i>Tarka the Otter</i>." </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">At this point, another touring cyclist named Elliot joined us. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Elliot is a wealth of knowledge. Elliot likes to share his knowledge. Elliot is refined. Elliot has toured South America, Europe, and a portion of America. Elliot is obnoxious. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Indeed, that is an otter," Elliot offered. </span></div>
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"As we are on the Tarka Trail, and the author of <i style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tarka_the_Otter">Tarka the Otter</a>, </i>Henry Williamson, lived in this area of Devon, this trail honors his legacy. You'll see many otter related things in this area and..."<br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">At this point I tuned out, clipping my foot back in the pedal, hoping my body language would let me off the hook and allow me to continue on my way. No such luck. After a ten minute posh history lesson, the other couple called it quits and headed off the opposite direction. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Elliot was going my way. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Naturally, this meant we had to cycle together for a distance. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1HvJ1GrxNBP1xp1XLyzkyR9ClglCLRLs1spispvhBo0rnGKMe78kMnHpU3E9xh4Vi6fMlqULp9aiRlksQ6dbPn3SQBpj743cHIsSF65bOSwqT3E1MuZBeq-yZK-_RPIehZyqUMN7i2t4/s1600/IMG_0816+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1HvJ1GrxNBP1xp1XLyzkyR9ClglCLRLs1spispvhBo0rnGKMe78kMnHpU3E9xh4Vi6fMlqULp9aiRlksQ6dbPn3SQBpj743cHIsSF65bOSwqT3E1MuZBeq-yZK-_RPIehZyqUMN7i2t4/s320/IMG_0816+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"That's probably not such a good idea, Jim"<br />
<i>Stuff it, Elliot.</i></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I've said it before, and I'll say it again. With one major exception (if you've read past seasons of this blog, you know to whom I am referring), I hate having a cycle partner. It's too much stress. Keeping pace. Maintaining polite conversation. The absolute last thing I want to do while cycling is talk about cycling, which is all Elliot wanted to do. And while I truly appreciated his company for five or six miles, he's the type of person who warns of the dangers of taking selfies while riding. Too proper for me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Well, I think it's time for me to take a break and have a granola bar," I said at an intersection of the trail near a closed coffee shop. I needed neither. Elliot looked somewhat confused as we recently had a ten minute break discussing otter history. Thankfully, he decided to continue on solo. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Just as Elliot left, an older cyclist named Peter approached, heading the opposite direction. His face fell as he saw the coffee shop was closed. "I was hoping for something to eat," he said dejectedly. "Is there anything further down the trail?" I gave him the bad news bluntly: Nope. He was shaking and looked as if he were about to keel over. He momentarily tried to decline when he saw me reaching in my bag for some rations to offer. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"These protein bars taste like garbage, but they get the job done," I assured him. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">He devoured it and instantly came to life. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHG-rySSp0q0R1LgW_btKBXeAXMzbOCOPcobjGvC97xyKB6i3HmdGAhgROAOEjepha3N4vUAyo40KLn0fVQov0RyQfQ8_HmT7Msx1XF28JFh5WCkjl4-9q1d7pGLulba350LAR2j5ZAU/s1600/IMG_E0818.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWHG-rySSp0q0R1LgW_btKBXeAXMzbOCOPcobjGvC97xyKB6i3HmdGAhgROAOEjepha3N4vUAyo40KLn0fVQov0RyQfQ8_HmT7Msx1XF28JFh5WCkjl4-9q1d7pGLulba350LAR2j5ZAU/s320/IMG_E0818.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Peter had not planned well. Peter is out of shape. Peter needed enough sustenance to get him to the nearest pub. Peter did not want to talk about cycling. Peter curses a lot. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Peter's a guy I might be able to cycle with. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Tell Johnny O'Groat I said hi!" Peter called as a send-off, referring to my final destination point. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Will do, Peter. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY<br />
<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">KATHY GARRY!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Thanks, Kathy!<br /><br />SPONSOR A BEER BY CLICKING <a href="https://www.paypal.com/signin?forceLogin=false&returnUri=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.paypal.com%2Fdonate&state=%252F%253Ftoken%253DvIZ4aYsC7dAOAJuiSN9VTuBls20xGgo9uLIr-cQlWnl2sD0E51-XflP47FWyoP81jMNlnW%2526fromUL%253Dtrue&intent=donate&ctxId=6181e7406740420283b9e8e88c3b24ee">HERE</a>. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">My own energy started to fade near the end of the ride, where the wooded trail turned into windswept coastline along the River Taw. Having waited until the last second to look for </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">accommodations, I was stuck with two choices when I made it to Barnstaple: Ride three miles further along my route and climb 400 feet to a remote campground, or ride six miles completely out of my way with zero feet of climbing and pubs nearby. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">You can guess which one I chose. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Besides, I'd like to give Chad a head start tomorrow. </span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8498039331398387068.post-10660743349787903172019-07-15T01:39:00.001-07:002019-07-15T01:43:56.113-07:00Never Ruin a Perfect Day<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">Day: 3 (Padstow to Bude)</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Average Speed: 9 mph</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Today: 50 miles</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Distance Cycled Total: 148.9 miles </span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;">Feet climbed: 2,559 today, 9,512.4 total</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coffee Truck on the Camel Trail<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;">I hesitate to say this so early on- I think I only said it twice across America, and maybe once on my last European trip- but I’m pretty sure that was a perfect day. I suppose it would’ve been more perfect were it not for me sucking wind up the climb that even my modest British guide calls “significant,” but that’s on me. Not on the day.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Today's Elevation Profile (minus the ten or so miles prior)</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I was somewhat disappointed yesterday when I didn’t make the mileage I had originally planned. As it turns out, that ultimately led to a beautiful (and very easy) ride along the famed Camel Trail on a lovely Sunday morning. The sun out, the ride smooth, the trail alive with families and well-behaved dogs at times, then serene and peaceful at others. Fifteen miles of bliss.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The weather seemed to know when I was about to hit my biggest climb of the day too, as the sun graciously ducked behind clouds while I struggled up the wall of a hill into the village of St. Breward.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>People love to watch cyclists struggle. It brings them great joy. I don’t mind a bit. In fact, I encourage it by offering this comment: “The Cornish sure do know how to make a proper hill!” Without fail, this elicits belly laughs and prideful boasts. It’s possible that I’ve made this comment about fifty times by now, but the key to eliciting people’s reactions is to always make it sound as if it were an off-the-cuff comment. I learned that from my father when we toured on a tandem bicycle.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBk8SagPmLq_rPAzAH7KM98UoEqjOmDZq2tiPcN17ZpzBwniIvcz4XnsYIocVXIlaEzv7nd_ROv42_Z8gXODwewPYkrrvMAvGVAybtyp6Wj8_iHXXpG-zIaO1sOsJQf_UN1tVx11u4Le8/s1600/IMG_0782+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBk8SagPmLq_rPAzAH7KM98UoEqjOmDZq2tiPcN17ZpzBwniIvcz4XnsYIocVXIlaEzv7nd_ROv42_Z8gXODwewPYkrrvMAvGVAybtyp6Wj8_iHXXpG-zIaO1sOsJQf_UN1tVx11u4Le8/s200/IMG_0782+2.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost hit these sheep</td></tr>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The highlight of the day was cycling over the Bodmin Moor, which is the closest thing to a mountain here in Cornwall. Teeming with free range farm animals (I almost plowed into a small flock of crossing sheep... that would've been baaaaaa-d) and incredible views, the cycle path lazily climbs to its peak at 980 feet. Traffic is light on the one-lane road, and drivers (as they have been since Day 1) are extremely courteous, cautious, and patient when it comes to cyclists. They do not seem to mind motoring behind your 3 mph pace during a climb, and will not honk even if you are unaware they're behind you. Nearly every one offers a pleasant acknowledgement when it is 100% safe for them to pass. This is not that different in much of America, but where I am from, cars frequently don't budge from their lane as they zoom past. It's refreshing. </span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vaughan Williams</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">At one point, I stopped for a snack in front of a farmhouse, unaware that its owner was nearby in the garden. I was startled when he called out, and a pair of eyes and a hat peered over a rustic rock wall. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"You a'right then, are ye?" he asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">He reminded me of that character Wilson, Tim's neighbor in that 90's sitcom <i>Home Improvement</i>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"I'm fine," I replied. "Just having a snack."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"That's a good idea, ain't it."</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Vaughan Williams (not Wilson) belongs to one of six families who live on the Bodmin Moor. "You have to be a bit mad to live here, but I like it just fine." He is a charming man who, a decade ago (when he was 63 years old), <i>walked</i> the direct 900-mile route from John O'Groats to Lands End in order to raise money for his son's spinal surgery. He did it in 57 days.</span> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tors in the distance... not raining just yet.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"The kind of trip your taking," he said, "...it's not about the actual cycling, it's about the people ya meet, ain't it?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"> Sure is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He offered a brief history of the area, noting the World War II ruins, the wild horses, and a meteorologist's explanation of the rocky crags in the distance: "We have a saying here... if you can see those tors, it's going to rain. If you can't see them, it is raining."</span> </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minty lamb pie. Delicious.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">With brilliant timing, the sun reappeared for the thrilling descents (marked with a few steep climbs lest you enjoy yourself "too much"), which eventually led to the beautiful town of Bude, known for its surf culture. I checked into a hostel, and immediately sought out a pub for a well deserved dinner and a pint. The bartender recommended I order the minty lamb pie. My rule of thumb: no matter how disgusting it sounds, always try what the locals recommend. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bude</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I had been keeping to myself, casually goofing off on my phone, when I overheard a voice nearby. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Mum!" it said, "No one needs to know that!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">My curiosity was piqued. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"No one needs to know what?" I asked innocently. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The bawdy woman whom the child was addressing staggered over to my table, leaned down as if to whisper, then shouted "THAT I'M A REDHEAD DOWNSTAIRS!" </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can guess which one is "Becs."<br />
And no, I did not expect that pose just before her daughter<br />
took the pic.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />Oh boy. Her fourteen year old daughter </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">was right. No one needed to know that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Rebecca (or "Becs") quickly determined I was American, and I became the curiosity of the entire pub. She ran outside to get her friends ("There's a rear exit to this place," a nearby patron said, "I suggest you run now"). They flocked around me with all sorts of questions and crass comments. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"What's Disney World like?" <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxCqNt4KwibIQveNV2rX0lpyRENkkOxiaT1mE842cwxlGK8WwBZXkuoUFOy4W7zcFFwdLtghd_m6eYNFLkG-Zwn9WoTJeoT_gz_h_V3h2VKHgFkfThIgeez7iRuLH92yPaapZmnmzknA/s1600/IMG_0799.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxCqNt4KwibIQveNV2rX0lpyRENkkOxiaT1mE842cwxlGK8WwBZXkuoUFOy4W7zcFFwdLtghd_m6eYNFLkG-Zwn9WoTJeoT_gz_h_V3h2VKHgFkfThIgeez7iRuLH92yPaapZmnmzknA/s320/IMG_0799.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">THIS BEER SPONSORED BY<br /><span style="color: magenta;">LAUREN MASCI!</span><br /><br />Click <a href="https://www.paypal.com/donate/?token=vIZ4aYsC7dAOAJuiSN9VTuBls20xGgo9uLIr-cQlWnl2sD0E51-XflP47FWyoP81jMNlnW&fromUL=true&country.x=US&locale.x=en_US">HERE</a> to sponsor a beer!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"You don't call them chips in America do you?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">"What sound does a goat make? Is it 'baaa' or 'maaa'?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Oddly enough, that last question had the entire pub making barnyard sounds for about five minutes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I'll skip over the other comments Becs and her cadre made, lest you're eating breakfast while reading this. Suffice it to say, while nursing my second pint, I was offered accommodations for the night several times. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">No thanks, Becs and company. I'm fine with the hostel. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Wouldn't want to ruin a perfect day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">P.S. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Not Quite the "Polite Notice" as Featured <a href="http://greensaddle.blogspot.com/2019/07/jim-quinlans-guide-for-out-of-shape-and.html">Yesterday</a>. </span></div>
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Jim Quinlanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04607069346709565312noreply@blogger.com0