Today we are heading to the Republic of Ireland. We're bound to see
interesting things over the next few days, but our fabulous Internet
deal won't apply there so we almost certainly won't be blogging. We
will be arriving back in the UK, in the form of Holyhead in Wales, on
Saturday evening. We promise to update you then, our loyal readers,
about our adventures. And we'll be back on the bikes, too.
Death toll: still zero
Part One: Dunluce Castle
Dunluce two decades ago
Dunluce today
James has been telling me about Dunluce Castle for oh, about a decade. As a wee lad the castle made a huge impression on him, so it was something that we had to visit so that he and his brother could show their wives around the place. James at least had some concerns that it wouldn't be as good as he remembered... Perhaps the most interesting thing about Dunluce is that part of it fell into the sea about four centuries ago: the kitchen, and the dinner, and the servants preparing it.
Part Two: Bushmills Distillery
Next, we went to Bushmills - the oldest, continuous, licensed distillery in the world: it was granted its licence by James I in 1608. We went on the guided tour, which was quite interesting; we saw the mash being stirred, and then the stuff being fermented, then being distilled, and then eventually being bottled. James is disillusioned with whiskey: he had thought that, like beer, the taste might come from how it's made. Instead, turns out the taste basically comes from the barrels it's aged in - in the case of Bushmills, sherry, port or bourbon. James now wonders whether he can just make it at home; if you know where to get used barrels, please let him know. Yes, we did also get a 'free' tasting with the cost of the tour; the girls had a taste of the 1608 heritage whiskey, while the boys all had the 12 year old reserve, which you can only purchase at the distillery.
Part Three: the Giants Causeway
Basalt columns as a cliff
Basalt columns up close
Again, something that made a huge impact on young Pierce boys. Tesselations! So exciting! We walked down a long cliffside trail to the Causeway itself, and had a pleasant time sitting on the tiles themselves.
Note: it has been pointed out to me that I missed a fairly significant feature of yesterday: peat. Shedloads of peat. Cut into brickettes, drying out, stacked into piles. Peat!
If you're only reading this blog because you are interested in amusing cycling stories, now might be the time to take a week-long hiatus from us. For the next week, Henry and the Argo are broken to pieces (well, two main pieces) and flat as pancakes in the back of a 7-seater Vauxhall, while we travel around with James' family in said car and its twin.
Today saw us take a long car-trip (I think we travelled as far today as James and I have travelled in the past fortnight) over to the west coast of the island of Ireland, which involved crossing into the SOUTH (as their road signs have it), which happened as we went West, and is a completely different country: Eire, or the Republic of Ireland (IRL... heh heh). There was a distressing lack of drama, or even signage, as we went into this country that fought so determinedly to be separate from Great Britain. We did change to kilometres from miles, to euros from pounds sterling, and to bilingual signs from ones that just had unpronounceable names.
Firstly, we went to (London)Derry, where we Walked the Walls:
Sadly, nothing was open; it was only 11am on a Sunday, after all.
We went to a national park at Glenveigh, and took a little walk around their grounds; we neglected their castle as being too modern (19th century? pfeh!). 
We went over hills, and through valleys, searching for Authentic Wild West Coast Ireland; sadly large sections of the west coast have been taken over by, we think, the elite of London and Dublin. And possibly Americans. How dare they ruin our search for Authentic Wilderness?! We arrived, eventually, in a bay where we looked out over the North Atlantic, with nary a skerrick of land between us and Newfoundland. Now there's a profound thought. It was a glorious little cove, the tide a long way out and rock pools to poke in - and it was almost warm enough that I almost wished for bathers.
On the way home we found Wilder West Coast Ireland to look at, which mollified us somewhat. And mitigated the feeling of being in a rally car that those in the back two seats in particular experienced as we went up and down hills and around bends.
Did I mention that all six of us were travelling in what is theoretically a 7-seater? I spent about half the trip in the back, with my knees around my ears, which was its own special brand of entertaining. James and his Dad are the only drivers allowed near the steering wheel of this car; this too was own special brand of entertaining. In its own way. Imagine the merry band of travellers, if you can: a mad Irishman delirious with joy at bringing his family, as adults, to his childhood home; James; an exuberant music teacher; and Robyn, Mike and I trying to keep the peace, keep it peaceful, and not die in a variety of entertaining ways.
Death toll: zero.
We rolled the 3-odd miles down to the ferry terminal, which is actually in Troon, and lined up with all the cars. After a quick wait we were issued our tickets and sent to the very front on the queue, nice. We rolled on again down to the boat and the bikes were tied up to a rail just inside the car loading dock. To be honest it seemed a bit ad-hoc compared to the very precise parking instructions and strapping down the cars received.
The trip across to Northern Ireland (Larne) was flat and foggy; pretty typical big ferry replete with shops, bars and food joints etc. We were first off the boat once we arrived and then the only thing which remained was to rendezvous with Dad who was driving up from Belfast to meet us. There were some phone calls, and some waving, and then some running, and then some jumping back when Dad drove past (backwards then forwards), but eventually we were reunited and found a park. We broke the bikes down a bit and drove back to Belfast.
We met up with Mum, Mike and Bron and typical family behavior ensued ... I'll leave the details to the imagination of the reader.
Not without a certain amount of palaver, we waited in the middle of a street parade for quite some time on top of a red double decker to go on a tour around the sites of Belfast. The highlight for me was probably seeing the twine cranes, in the docks Samson and Goliath - The other interesting and sad part was to see much of the area where the troubles have focused for many decades, things like the 2+ mile wall with gates closed at all times outside standard business hours. Flags, murals, lots of razor wire and decay give the strong impression that underlying feelings that drove the conflict only sit just below the surface.
Tour over we packed everything up and drove up to Portstewart for a few days. Dad spent most of his childhood up here, so he's like a big excited kid showing us around, taking us down to 'the front' (the waterfront) and harbour for fish and chips, and icecream apparently still made by the same people from his childhood. A late night, probably the latest we've had all trip; we all got to bed exhausted.
Did you manage to get out of Paisley without being mugged ?
Just, though it is a miracle we didn't get a flat with all that glass
Why do Henry and the Argo have flecks of fresh bitumen all over them ?
Because Alex and James ignored the 'road closed' signs and rode over the increasingly fresh bitumen until they caught up with the truck laying it, at which point they quickly made a get away along a side road.
Why does it take 30min to walk back to the B&B from central Troon (population 14,000) ?
Because as it turns out Alex booked us a place in the next town, Loans, on 'Troon Road', by accident.
How can you impress your wife in unexpected ways ?
Try opening a beer using nothing but your bare hands and a bus stop...
Also, here are a few pictures from the top of the tower of the Abbey in Kilwinnie:
36 miles (58km)
Well, the post below details one of the recurring aspects of today's journey. However, it wasn't all like that.
(Note: if you're just reading this for the pictures, you're going to be disappointed. Today, while interesting, was distinctly difficult to take pictures of.)
We started the morning following the River Leven, which flows out of Loch Lomond and is Scotland's fastest flowing river. It's been the site of many and varied textiles industries down the years. Eventually, we joined the path that follows the Forth and Clyde Canal way. We'd been told about this path, which goes from Edinburgh to Glasgow (or vice verse, depending on who you talk to): it's been recently done up, and the canal re-opened I think. We went past a few locks, which meant that James could explain in that condescending manner that girls like how they operated. Exciting. Perhaps the most interesting lock was one which was underneath a road - presumably cheaper than building a higher road bridge?
Just out of Glasgow, we made something of a detour... because the turn-off we required was signposted only by a wooden post about a foot high. We did discover that there was a ferry we could take, from Renfrew (site of our detour) to Paisley (site of our accommodation). Not knowing the times, and determined to be Authentic (or something), we decided to continue on the cycleway and go into Glasgow, out of Glasgow, and then on to Paisley by bike. It was only an additional 18 miles or so.
The ride into Glasgow, along the Clyde, was quite fascinating. I'll be honest: I've always heard of Glasgow as the poorer, more industrial cousin to Edinburgh. And the outskirts were, frankly, feral; lots of glass on the path, rubbish in the long grass on the edges, rundown buildings when we got towards town. Oh, and a bloke being arrested on our path. However - as in so many places, Melbourne included - the docks and waterfront are being remodelled, as shipping no longer comes right into the heart of the city. By bike, the transition from derelict buildings to high-class apartments seemed to happen really quite quickly. And it was very cool to ride past the Glasgow Science Centre, and BBC Scotland - whose entire wall facing the Clyde is window.
We went off track and into Glasgow proper for lunch, because there was nothing on our route and because we were making far better time than we had anticipated. Following the Clyde ever further in, we eventually turned into the city centre and found quite a nice stretch of shops and cafes not too far away. Glasgow quite obviously is much more than the country cousin to Edinburgh; they have a Dr Who exhibition on at the moment!
We caused some amusement amongst the suits and stockings out basking in the sun and eating their lunch along the river by stopping to put on sunscreen; we then crossed the Clyde and headed out of Glasgow proper to Paisley. Our route took us through Pollock Country Park; I have no idea who Pollock was, but there was a golf course and a big old house and a mountain bike course that had James crying for suspension on Henry. Paisley... well. It has an abbey, from the 12th century; and a campus of the University of West Scotland. And a big rambly secondhand bookshop (hello, more Harry Potter). It also has skanks and neds (aka chavs, aka bogans) being scary and shouting at each other, and shops with iron bars on the windows - those shops that are not boarded up, anyway. We're staying in a very pricey place that's really catering for people on the way to/away from the airport, and for people with business at the uni. Frankly, in some ways it feels like an oasis - or perhaps a gated community in the middle of the feral heartland...
We're currently enjoying the lounge, wifi and a book. Normally we like to find a pub etc and meet some locals, but I think tonight we might give it a miss.
First a quick note for the uninitiated, a classic 'big ride' for British touring cyclists is to ride the End to End route from bottom left to top right, about 1000 miles depending on the exact roads chosen. Amazingly the cycling record is just 44 hours and 4 min. Anyway, here's my advice for anyone wanting to attempt the route in a sensible amount of time (14 to 20 days seems to be typical).
1) Get some maps
2) Get quite fit, as doing 60 miles (100km) each and every day is a fairly big ask on the body, even for regular cyclists.
3) Don't plan to ride 90 miles in one day including a traverse of a large city like Glasgow (just for example).
Today we repeatedly met 3 chaps who were attempting the end to end for the first time. When I say we met them repeatedly, we kept passing them and then they would catch us up when we stopped for lunch, sunscreen, a few-mile diversion into town etc... Now Alex and I don't exactly fly along, I think we managed an average of around 9 miles per hour today, so it's safe to assume these chaps were averaging about the same. But I don't think that's really where they were going wrong; let's see if we can figure it out with a quick check against the list of advice above.
1) Get some maps ? Well, no - despite planning to cycle from one end to the other of one of the most densely road-covered countries on the planet, these gents and decided not to bring a map of any kind; I can only assume they were looking for a bit of adventure and thought that they could just wing it.
2) Get quite fit ? Well ... no - They were a combination of young and fat, or old and slightly less fat. As I said, when actually turning the pedals Al and I consistently sailed past these chaps with our 5 months' worth of luggage and without being in a particular hurry to be anywhere holding us back.
3) Don't plan to ride 90 miles in one day ... See now this is where I really think these fellows came unstuck today, when we first passed them at about 9:30am they had just set off for the day and we leap frogged each other to Glasgow where we left them behind as we diverted into Glasgow central for lunch. Just out of our destination town of Paisley we met them again at 3:15pm - where they hailed us down and asked for directions (no map you see... the town they were trying to get to was on the border of England and Scotland, some 65 miles away (plus another 5 miles back to Glasgow to get on the right road).
We have no idea how this story ends, but these lads have a long way to go to Lands End at their current rate of progress !
We had a fairly lazy start to the day, necessitated by James' addiction to Harry Potter (#2 completed in 2 days; #3 not yet in possession, hopefully to be rectified tomorrow).
Eventually, we went walking:
... around the bottom of the loch. It was pretty enough, although there was a bit of murk around.
Blowing the Budget #1 involved going to the Loch Lomond Aquarium:
We liked the Asian short-clawed otters - watching them get fed was very entertaining - and I liked the seahorses a lot. Of course, these sorts of huge tanks are always entertaining to watch, too (Alex G, you better be good to my tank) - especially when the decorations etc are so non-authentic as to include faux Viking helmets and Roman ruins.
The Aquarium from the loch - it's so ugly! And so big, it's utterly incongruous.
After wandering the aquarium, we looked with some bemusement at the Loch Lomond Shores mall: it's a small-scale, very up-market shopping centre, and I just don't get it. Why would you travel to Loch Lomond to go shopping in somewhere like that?? People are weird.
For the afternoon, we decided to go on a cruise of the loch (Blowing the Budget #2). 
We had hoped to go on the two-hour cruise, because that would take us past a few of the islands. Sadly, it wasn't running today, so we had to go with just the one hour version. We did still go past some interesting stuff - including the biggest island in the loch, which is privately owned and home to Scotland's oldest established noooodist colony. Things I like about Loch Lomond: it's the largest body of fresh water in the UK; it's one of the deepest (over 600ft deep!); and there are running arguments about how many islands there are in the middle (some say 23, some way 30, others are in between).
It was a good idea. Tomorrow, along the River Leven, which flows from the loch to the Clyde - and we go through the glory that is Glasgow.
In a beer garden in Callander: 
Things I did not think I would have to worry about in the UK:
We left Callander this morning with hardly a cloud in the sky - tshirts on, sunscreen slathered - and the day stayed that way. (In fact, as I write this, we are wondering exactly how we'll manage to sleep tonight.) This was a nice change from cloudy, and would have been made a whole lot nicer had we been doing the ride a few years ago - before large sections of the countryside got logged.
The first part of our route took us past two lochs:
It's not this one, because there were no good spots for a picture, but one of them was called Loch Drunkie....
Much of the day was off-road, which was mostly good except for a couple of steep gravelly sections. Also, we saw a deer! (Actually James saw two - I was too busy negotiating gravel to see the second.) James forgot to mention that seeing a deer was one of the highlights of our walk up to Bracklinn Falls, yesterday. I've never seen deer in the wild before. Now, to find a hedgehog... and a red squirrel.
We also went over a couple of bridges:
Things Alex does not like
We got into Balloch mid-afternoon, parched and desperately in need of a cool shower. Having recovered some semblance of humanity, we walked into the town proper, via Balloch Castle and Loch Lomond. James was utterly dismissive of the castle - built in 1808 ("pft! modern!" he says; that's supposed to be my line!) - seems I've created an historical snob (and this is while he's still in therapy because I suggested that not all the ruins we'd seen were exactly, erm, as ruined as they might have been...). The Loch is indeed impressive; it's one of the biggest, after all. There were lots of kids swimming, and a few less-than-sensible people out on jet-skis mighty close to the swimmers. How can there be jetskis on Loch Lomond??
Also? While James has been getting into the Harry Potter love (and therefore has to retroactively take back the nasty things he said about my month-or-so long HP obsession, before we left), I've been reading a book that made him terribly depressed for a good few days: Six Degrees, with a chapter looking at predictions of consequences for 1C global rise in temperature... 2C global rise in temperature... etc. It's enough to send me back to science fiction.
We've had a couple of days off the bike here, just hanging about, lots of walking in the hills and along the rivers etc. Highlights include the falls, walking along the top of the 'crags', a trip to the kirk and enjoying the main-street of a classic english village. I have become addicted to harry potter after finding a few in the second hand shop for a pound. Off to Loch Lomond today.
Trying not to fall in!
The path across the Crags
Callander from on high
26 miles (42km)
After a 4 miles climb out of Killin in drizzle the ride improves significantly. From the top of the mountain pass it's an undulating descent into Callander a few hundred meters below along old railway lines and forest paths. I'd have to say it's one of the prettiest days riding we've had on the trip yet, for a long time the trail follows along high up the side of the valley so you get great views down the whole way. When it finally touches down at the bottom of the valley you're in lush forest and riding around the shores of the various lochs between the two towns. Bit hard to take a good picture of it, but here's a few from the day.
Oh the other small detail was that for the entire day we were riding against the flow of the Robroy Challange, at first it looked like a pretty serious race, skinny whippets in the cockpits of road bikes going flat out along a mix of gravel paths and bitumen, but as our day progressed so did the field, by the end of the day we were weaving our way through the novices. Or perhaps they were weaving and we were just riding straight, it became hard to tell at times.
Disappointingly few businesses here take advantages of the pun-opportunities of the town's name. (We passed a town called Dull on the way here; I wonder if they have good business names?)
After a poor night's sleep, for reasons that remain unclear but surely have nothing to do with late-night Celebrity MasterChef, we went for a walk along the lovely River Tay, which feeds into the eponymous Loch: 
Getting back to town involved negotiating bogs-in-the-making and not falling into the river, both of which were accomplished.
Just outside Killin
39 miles (62.5km)
A fairly long day that started and finished in the rain, but had some lovely patches of sunshine in the middle - including when we stopped for pasta on the banks of a river. The second half of our ride was along Loch Tay, at the western end of which is Killin. There's a road on both sides of the loch; one is an A road, which is probably consistently well-paved and fairly flat. I wouldn't know. The southern side has a smaller road, which is where Sustrans directed us; having ridden a bit of an A road earlier in the day, I was thankful for that (people drive fast on A roads! Nasty!). However, our road clearly doesn't get that much attention from the road improvement people. Just when you get to to the top of a hill and think you can relax a bit on the descent, the road turns into corrugations... and when it's also raining, well, that's just a bit too much fun for me.
To get into the town of Killin, you cross a bridge over the Falls of Drochart (one of the rivers that feeds the Loch):
Our accommodation is lovely, although there is basically no reception in our little dale (hence the delayed broadcast).
It rained, again, on our second full day in Pitlochry. Around about midday we both got a case of cabin fever and ventured into the wet, to get lunch; the less said about that desultory, expensive experience the better. We followed it up with another walk to the Salmon Lift (sorry for the picture doesn't do it justice; there are 34 sections!): 
We didn't manage to see any Real Live salmon through the viewing chamber this time - but we did, once again, have to cross a suspension bridge over a lovely river: 
After whiling away the afternoon with some serendipitously discovered West Wing, we decided to treat ourselves to a good dinner, at the restaurant you can see next to the bridge (above). And very nice it was too - complemented by a good-natured argument in the corner between two rather inebriated fellows about how long one of the fishing rods on the wall was. James' involvement in this discussion got us an invitation to their table to help them drink a bottle of 'pudding wine' (dessert wine to us; Sauterne, to be precise). They were perfectly lovely gents to us colonials.
Walking home from dinner at 9.45 in just-nearing-sunset light was slightly surreal, but that, my friends, was the Redemption of Pitlochry.
My biking mates were divided 50/50 between bemused and horrified when they saw we were planning to head off and ride 5000 odd miles on HARD leather saddles. I must confess I was apprehensive also. In the lead up to our UK adventure I've been reading quite a few books of other crazies who done similar things, cycle around the world, across a desert etc etc. These characters all rode very different bikes but there was always one thing in common. A 'Brooks' saddle and most often a B17 (the original and cheapest model).
The B17 design has been made the same way for more than 100 years, it's essentially a piece of thick, hard leather stretched between two frames, a wide one at the back and a narrow one at the front. It's kind of like a hard leather hammock for your arse. As it ages and the leather stretches there is a bolt at the front to move the two frames apart to keep the tension even and maintain the same sitting position. Fans claim they can last 20+ years, I'm not as convinced.
Some months before we were due to head off I took advantage of an online sale (www.chainreactionclces.com) and snagged a B17 for me and a girly B17 for Al for about A$60 a piece to try them out. We both used them on and off around melbourne but it was hard to really tell how they were panning out. You know how good leather shoes are stiff and perhaps a bit uncomfortable before they suddenly and magically become like your favorite jeans? The most comfortable thing you own? A leather saddle is kind of like that. You have to break it in, using mostly your sit bones and a bunch of kms to get there though.
I had a bit of a 'Come-To-Jesus' moment with mine. It had been slowly getting a little less hard over about 1000km and then we did one 70+ km day in the rain early in our trip here in the UK. 5 hours of riding in the rain and it was pretty well soaked (strictly speaking a no no). Anyway when I stopped I noticed the saddle had two distinct dints where my sit bones are and the whole saddle was soft and floppy. Urk. We got sunny weather the next day and then had a few days off the bike, so it dried out pretty well. I tightened up the tension on it a 1/2 turn, and it's been MAGICAL ever since.
The saddle really does mould itself to your own particular rear end. Not sure I'd put one on my road racing bike, or even a mountain bike - perhaps one of their different designs - but for a long distance touring bike where you sit up a bit more, or a commuter bike it's a good choice.
'Myth Busted'
Yesterday we saw Real Live Salmon in a fish ladder by the Hydro plant, which was running.
Today it's raining, like yesterday.
So we decided we're having a weekend and doing some planning on where to go later in the year, and reading a book and stuff. We almost have a rough plan now for the rest of the trip, not sure what we'll do next time it rains ? Perhaps read some more of the 10 or so books I seem to be hauling again (we get it down to one or two and then buy more, like an all you can eat salad bar)
Also if I have to drink anymore tea in this country, I might spew.
28 miles (45km)
Mostly downhill or flat but raining all the way we made pretty quick work of the trip to Pitlochry, we left the Highlands and entered the region of lochs and glens we'll follow through for the next week or so. Beautiful riding in-spite of the rain, but no pictures as a result.
Pitlochry itself is a little bit disappointing, super touristy, but the kind of crap and cheesy touristy, rather than the good with lots of tempting places to spend your money touristy. We're here for a few days though and there are quite a few interesting things to do around the place, some day rides and a bit of walking too. Plus a great looking indian place that does a 3 course lunchtime special ... score ! Honestly I'm not sure why we don't eat indian in AU all the time, it's just not as good as here I think.
PS: Bron/Mike I added the map at the top today just for you.
Translation:
Munro: any of the 284 peaks in Scotland that are at least 3000 feet high.
Bagging:
For James, a leisurely Sunday morning stroll.
For Alex, a sometimes grim, but generally plucky navigation of an occasionally-absent track, negotiating scrub, burns, bogs and a minefield of loose rocks just waiting for the opportunity to turn an ankle. This is me at the cairn, celebrating my conquering of the dastardly peak.
We spent the afternoon immersed in books, listening to the rain and being glad we weren't out in it - unlike the five Glaswegian lads who entertained us last night (when I could understand what they were saying), who were riding to Inverness today.
For Kate: the front of the Georgian terrace that won our hearts. I would like to have an apartment like this one (on the inside and the outside) when I grow up
The top of the Walter Scott monument. Somewhere, Banjo is muttering: "where the hell's MY spire?"
The Lewis Chessmen. A millennium on, folks, and don't they look wonderful?
We didn't do as much of actual Edinburgh 'stuff' as I had expected, mostly because as James said the touristy stuff was mighty expensive and just that - touristy. The Royal Mile: how much cashmere, tartan, and whiskey - in varying combinations - can one street sell?? Also, having spoken to my sister and James' cousin, I suspect Edinburgh is a city you fall in love with by living there. It's the quirky bookshops (like the photographic book one James discovered), the cafes, the festivals, the walking paths along rivers and 'waters' - it's the ambience, the vibe of the thing, that people really love about the place. I could tell that in a couple of days. However, I'm not sure I could handle the crowds every day...
We had booked even before we left Australia to take a few days here as a bit of a rest up from a fairly big week riding around the coast to get here and also to check out the town. We missed out on coming up here last time we were in the UK. We walked the final mile or so to our accommodation as we found our way through the center of the city. Riding here would be a bit of an art, it's very hilly, many streets are 'pavé' (cobbled) and there are heaps of roads which go over and under each other with bridges, or through buildings etc. The whole city is very multilevel.
When we arrived at the address we'd written down, I could feel myself thinking 'stupid woman, she's got the wrong suburb or place or something'. It was just residential house, a door in the middle of a row of georgian buildings on a normal street. Anyway, we checked, checked again and eventually decided we were in the right place. Finally I saw 'Robinson' on the door bell and that matched the email. Ok then, ding dong. About a minute later a voice answered, I explained who we were and Eric chirped back 'Oh are you downstairs with your bikes ? I'll be right down.'.
A spritely white haired gent answered the door and welcomed us in with perfect BBC english. We worked out where the bikes were to stay in the entrance hall locked up to the stair rail and followed him up with our panniers. From there we were welcomed into Eric's stunning georgian home, superbly decorated and covered floor to celling in every room with art collected over his 70+ years. Our room was just superb, big comfy bed, a few reading chairs arranged around the window with an excellent view. The rest of the day was spent organizing our selves and having a quick dinner at a place at the end of the street before flopping into bed to sleep off the last week's riding. Breakfast the next morning was just served in the kitchen, rather than some fancy/sterile dinning room like most places and was just as elegant as the Eric and the house.
While we were in Edinburgh we walked all over town to look at things, past most of the popular tourist stuff electing not to pay £26 for the Castle or £20 for Holyrood Palace etc, even the whiskey experience wanted to fleece us for £22 for a look around a model of a distillery. The royal mile is the street which runs from the Castle to the Palace and sadly it's been a bit of a victim of it's own success. Great spot to come if you want to buy a cheaply made (but expensive) kilt, over priced whiskey or a postcard etc but kind of soul less as you walk up and down avoiding the tour busses.
It often seems with touristy towns the more expensive something is, the more likely it is to be a bit crap. Anyway, after a quick trip to the bike shop to get a few odds and ends we ended up in the Scottish National Museum which takes you through the history of Scotland chronologically over 7 levels of a very cool and modern museum. Three things I really loved about it; the first is that unlike many other modern museums (*cough* Melbourne *cough*) they hadn't taken away most of the collection replacing it with overly explained and elaborate display of a handful of items. The bottom floor which contained most of the older artifacts (coins, swords, bones etc etc) was stuffed to the gils. The second thing was a series of art works by Andy Goldsworthy around and through the exhibits, the slate walls and a perfect sphere of whale bones were a real highlight. The third thing is seeing the other 10 lewis chess men which live here (we'd seen the rest of the set in London 2.5 years ago).
Apart from that over two days we saw the usual mix of monuments, statues, churches and parks etc. The botanical gardens are especially nice here. We certainly ended up foot sore and tired by the end of each day trying to take it all in. I think it's always a good test of a place to see if the TV gets turned on or not, here it didn't even enter our heads.
Right now we're on the train heading deep into the Highlands to a tiny town called Dalwhinney, riding out from there to stay in a cottage very near the top of the near by mountain pass as we work our way back down through the lochs and passes before catching they ferry to Ireland in a few weeks. A few people had told us we would be sad to be leaving Edinburgh; I was, but only to be leaving Eric, his beautiful house and charming company.
43 miles (69km)
(if James calls it 'Edinberg' in public here, I may do something nasty)
First, go back to the A road that didn't manage to get you run over yesterday; quickly take a right-hand turn, at the nuclear power station, and go straight on through the cement works. Cross the railway line, and turn right onto the A199; go past the brewery. Turn left, going under the A1; stop at Hailes Castle.
Continue on to Haddington, and join the railway path. Eventually go north, travelling at 18 mph, until you get to Longniddry Station. Look in vain for the tunnel or ramp you're expecting; unload your bike, and take everything up the stairs, over the bridge, and then down the stairs. Continue on with as little profanity as possible. Join the John Muir 'coastal path' - and then ride along the footpath next to the B1348. Eventually, get to the Firth of Forth; proceed for 5 miles. Turn right, at the bitumen plant; carry your bikes up another set of stairs and over a bridge; push them through the broken glass and empty beer cans. Immediately turn left then right, and proceed along the road approximately 150 yards from the start of the bitumen plant diversion. Ride towards the 'lagoon', which is oddly not a lagoon but a gravel truck depot. Avoid large gravel trucks.
Turn left at Musselburgh - after negotiating innumerable fishing villages; follow the River Esk, and then finally join Route 1. Follow this heavily signed route* into the centre of Edinburgh.
*NB: due to comprehensive signage of Route 1, no funds were available to adequately sign Route 76 (Dunbar-Musselburgh) as described above.
35 miles (56km)
We got into Scotland! 
Me: in Scotland. Behind me: not in Scotland.
This was very exciting. But then there were hills. Who said there could be hills again? Also, with less wind there were more insects. Unpleasant.
We went via bits of the coast, and via bits inland. We took a detour to Coldingham and St Abbs, as recommended by our hosts in Berwick, and it is indeed a lovely little bit of the Scottish coastline.
St Abbs
Towards the end of the day, we saw some more Scottish coastline:
This is Pease Bay. Delightful little inlet, stunning cliffs, a nice enough beach... and holiday homes, cheek by jowl.
We stayed at Thorntonloch House overnight; seems like quite a new B&B; we got a huge room. It had the most awesomely powerful shower I've ever stood under, maybe because we were right next door to a nuclear power station.
Tea
There's a reason there's a stereotype about the English being tea-swilling types. They are. I have never been offered tea so many times as in the month we've been in England. Also, there is no way a pub would advertise itself as having tea, but I have seen them do so in England. Plus, tea often comes before coffee in the list of things offered by a cafe/bar/whatever. However, while there are some lovely Twinings blends and some other interesting brands, the ordinary tea we've been given in many B&Bs has been just that. Entirely Ordinary.
Property
Can't find a house to buy in Australia? Come out here! I don't think we've been through a single small town without there being multiple houses for sale. No idea of the prices, but it can't be that bad, surely...
Hoons
We've only seen them once... and they were driving hatchbacks...
Fashion
If you can call it that. Girls in skimpy little outfits, even/especially on freezing cold days... and it just doesn't look good.
Animals
Sheep: white sheep, black sheep, black-faced white sheep. Sheep with tails, sheep with horns, sheep with both. Sheep on the beach.
Cows: hairy cows. Cows with horns (and udders). Cows close to cliffs...
Pigs: showing how urban(e) I am, I'd never seen pigs actually on a farm before...
Rabbits: they don't have rabbits here; they have bunnies, because they are so cute! Now, before you renounce my Australian citizenship, don't worry: I still hate the blighters for the plague they are, it's just that the English ones are such cute blighters! Makes me appreciate Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail all the more.
Wild: squirrels, deer... pheasants. Dead hedgehogs. No badgers.
Old stuff
There's a lot of it. And it's old.
Traffic
We have basically been very impressed with our experience of traffic over here. Having ridden largely on back roads, when on roads at all, we have almost always been treated with respect and courtesy: oncoming traffic has pulled over, often right into a hedge - and sometimes even stopped; traffic behind us has usually slowed right down and waited for a sensible point at which to overtake. There have been a few exceptions, but they only stick in the memory because they are just that. I think this is a result of two things: their habit of using roads that in Australia would be one-way only, due to width, not just as two-way, but allowing parking on them; and the number of 'traffic calming' points where traffic is forced to be one-way due to a chicane. Drivers get used to giving way. Also, we've taken to calling 4WDs 'light commercials'.
Roads
They're crap.
Beer
It's just better here. The real ales, that is: those that are properly cellared, and hand-pulled, and made in this country. There's just no comparison with bottled beer.
Pubs
Connected to the real beers. Real pubs rarely serve food, generally don't look that trendy, and usually don't have young whippersnappers behind the bar, unless they're related to the proprietor. They do have interesting stuff on the walls - mostly genuine memorabilia; their furniture is wooden and well-used; and the regulars will generally make strangers welcome, especially once they discover you're Australian and therefore fair game for insults.
Stinging nettles
We hates them, precious. Yess.
25 miles to Bamburgh and then 35 miles to Berwick (100km over the two days)
We left Alnmouth with mixed feelings about the previous 12 hours entertainment, sorry we were going to miss out on another installment and yet somehow relieved as well. The two sections from Alnmouth to Berwick are really where the Coasts and Castles route we are on starts to earn its name. Dotted along the horizon as you ride are castles, towers and other ruins with something always in sight.
The first section follows the coast the whole way to this magnificent ruin at Dunstanburgh, pretty nice despite a little 3 mile bike pushing through the sand-dunes adventure caused by me. (It was on the map, really it was).
Then the trail continues again following along hard up against a rocky strewn coastline through farms and along the train line. The last part was pretty cool, we've seen heaps of trains here along the main line, mostly their high speed electric variety which are quite something up close.
Bamburgh is a tiny little seaside holiday town, but you know you're arriving for miles and miles as one of the best kept castles in England rises from the rocky outcrop on which it's built. We rolled in to town early and went to see the castle, including its collection of artifacts in the state-rooms etc, 15 and 16th century swords, amour and all that, as well as a pretty big collection of early rifles. Without meaning to it was really a museum about the end of steel weapons and the rise of gunpowder.
An early start the next morning as we raced the tide 21 miles to Holy Island and Lindasfarne. Bustling with more tourist than I think we've seen everywhere else put together, and to be honest, a bit underwhelming. The race is necessary though as the only access to the island is via a causeway which floods twice a day at high tide.
Lunch looking at the castle and then on to Berwick and the end of England. Another sensational section of track along the cliff tops with a view over the harbor into town takes us to the end of England. There was some competition from the locals to get into town though.
The locals on security detail, the view from our accom and the view of our accom.
31 days, 1000km, no flat tires and today we start to cross Scotland.
The place where we stayed in Alnmouth, is a magnificently appointed guesthouse hotel with a traditional lounge and dining room. All with a slightly retirement home kind of a feel about it, contributed by all the patrons sitting out the front when we arrived being 70+ and an officious, bossy but well-meaning hostess.
We got the hint that something wasn't quite what we were expecting when we received a detailed tour of the house and then our room, including the individual function of each part therein: the light switches, the shaving socket down to the hot water-bottle... we were even offered full instructions on how to use the bathroom which thankfully we were able to kindly decline.
We'd signed up for dinner, bed and breakfast (actually we had no choice; problem with booking Saturdays only a week out). Dinner is served after summons by a gong. A roll call of names at each table kicked things off, but then after that the other guests started to warm up and reveal to us newbies the funny features of other meals - like the mint sauce container the size of a small cauldron. It seems that being here for one night will be something of a blessing.
After dinner, tea was served up in the lounge, which was quite lovely if overly decorated, and it also became quickly obvious that even more of the guests thought the whole affair somewhat a farce; it was a relief when even the oldest of patrons were making quips about the food, service and the place as a whole. Proof positive that the mind can clearly outlast the body, very inspiring.
We made fast friends at the dinner table with a blend of self deprecating and insulting Australian humor, that scored us an invite to the pub and our gracious English friends insisted on buying us a few drinks, very kind and great fun.
The process for everyone to order breakfast and dinner for the next night and morning, while eating breakfast, was further hilarity the next morning during breakfast. Delivered as a monologue and at a rolling pace, a continuous list of options and alternatives. Starters and mains are however are dictated, only dessert is a choice and then there are an exhaustive N-factorial number of options. Fresh fruit with ice cream, cream, Greek yogurt or custard and of course double cream comes around in a jug. Creme Brulee, Cheesecake, Chocolate Lumpy Bumpy, Sticky Toffee Pudding, Sorbet etc - all with the same ice cream, cream, Greek yogurt or custard options and of course double cream comes around in a jug.
On the breakfast order everything must be specified right down to the specific item you will eat (eg a particular jam Danish vs some other kind of Danish). The combination of the food we received was quite good though everything is super sized: tea pots, milk jugs, yorkshire puddings, cheese serves... a simple 'small' serve of scrambled eggs was one of the biggest we've ever seen for the table next door.
The strange service and good company made for one of the more entertaining places we've stayed yet.
Rollicking good fun.
James says:
I can't very well go around extolling the virtues of the slow trip, traveling by bike and how you see all the little things you miss as you wizz past in the car without occasionally taking a spoon of my own medicine. Let me run you through the first few hours of our day.
Hour #1
This morning we left the land of a million stag bars, replete with plastic palm trees and neon signs advertising cheap booze and cheap women in roughly equally quantities. Our journey takes us now up the coast of England on our way to Edinburgh; we quickly left the seaside town of Whitley Bay only to replace it with non desrcript outer suburb after suburb along the coast, with even more non descript and often heavily polluted and industrial beaches. This is to be the backdrop for the first hours riding of the day.
Hour #2
I'm reminded that we are on the other side of the world and hence things are clearly upside down; in Melbourne, or any other town in Australia this would be Brighton, an affluent beach front suburb where the well-to-do live. We also rode along the river Tyne on our way into Newcastle as well and judging by the cranes, docks and light industry the affluent don't live there either, so perhaps there is another part to Newcastle we missed, or perhaps we would have been better off to give it a miss ?
Hour #3
After some 15 miles we broke free of the endless grey suburban streets and out into an open field with a windmill at its entrance, also a sign saying power station next to it. Jolly good show I though, we'll ride though a big wind farm on the coast, it was after all pushing a solid easterly all day. But no, instead the largest aluminum smelter and huge coal power-station all-in-one I've ever seen. So we wound our way through the middle of this aluminum making complex to hit the beach, long sand dunes.
Hour #4
Lunch - Eventually we did manage to get up enough momentum to break orbit and get out into the real countryside, after 4 hours. Everything was very nice after that, but I think I'll let Alex do the talking for that part.
The moral of the story is be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.
Alex says:
Frankly, the trip out of Whitley Bay was only good because it got us out of Whitley Bay. We had a little bit of nice coastal path, then got caught in the clutches of the suburbs of Blyth and the rest of the conurbation up that section of coast; not pretty and not interesting. Good only because it was mostly flat.
The highlight of the day was Warkworth Castle. You can see it from a fair distance away, and there's a fair amount of the keep that you can still get access to. There's also bits and pieces left in the outer ward, some of which is essentially underground, and combined with the maze-like qualities of the keep this made it an awesome venue for playing tag (not by us, by the kids visiting at the same time).
Our destination, Alnmouth, is a too-cute little village on a promontory - we got to it over a lovely little stone bridge. Our accommodation... deserves a separate post...
So I wake up in this big carved wooden bed in this fantastic manor house B&B, bikes resting easily in the stable. I can smell breakfast wafting up the stairs. The problem ? It was soundly raining and it's 6 degrees outside.
So we get up, have the breakfast which has been wafting up the stairs, and then go back to our room, where I proceed to spend about an hour (perhaps hour and a half) finding reasons not to leave, email, phoning home etc. Some time about 20 min past our allotted checkout time we leave.
So this is where the sadness begins, out to the horse stables to get the bikes and then riding down to the river Tyne in the rain, that's pretty bad, considering I've already procrastinated and looked at the rain radar which paints a bleak pictures of increasing precipitation. But then we meet english bike tourists going to Holland wearing this:
That almost made me laugh, but it was still raining and they had hats.
After that we rode through a beautiful green forest (still in the rain), which ought to have been very nice, really it was, except for one detail. At the 7.8 mile mark for the day I declared I was cold. Alex declared she was toasty. I was dismayed, perhaps one could even say on the verge of being sad. Then I noticed a fatal flaw in my dress for the day, my 'pit zips' were fully open from the last time I wore my jacket (sometime last century (last week)).
So now I was cold, and that's when I became sad.
Another 7.8 miles in to Newcastle central and I was wet and sad, my hands were so wet and cold that they hurt, and I needed to Pee.
Greggs (the baker) to the rescue, cowering in a dirty lane way we hid from the rain and I bought us food and hot Chocolate. It didn't really make a difference.
Then there was the super loo incident, no public toilets in all of Britain as far as I can tell, certainly nothing civilized like the PUBLIC TOILET MAP. So I paid my 20p at the super loo to go inside, only to be given a short lecture on how the door was closing, how to go to the toilet and how if I didn't leave quickly something unpleasant would happen to me during the self cleaning cycle.
Then there was another 10 miles of riding in the rain unable to feel my hands at all, cold and miserable... Priory ... more riding. Finally we got to our place of rest, as best I can tell a stag night paradise, about 30 bars on one street mostly proudly announcing their love of a good stag night. Some with plastic palm trees, some with 'Real Live Strippers'. Sad.
Finally Alex annouced to me over dinner that my beard is going grey.
Today I am so sad.
34 miles (54.5km)
Leaving Haltwhistle after four nights was hard; we'd started to settle in! It didn't help that England has started to show her true face again - the overcast, colder one, that is. With just a hint of rain.
Our trip from Haltwhistle to Ovington followed Hadrian's Cycleway - blue signs with a bike and a Roman helmet - but for most of it, we weren't anywhere near the Wall. For the first time, we managed to see interesting things along the route as well as riding a decent distance.
First off, we went to Chester's Fort (having passed Vindolanda and seen the Real Live Archaeologists dumping dirt that didn't have anything interesting in it in a big pile).
The most interesting part about Chester's was the bath house: right by the river, and with enough of the floor and walls intact (or restored? - I've really got James worried about this possibility it's not all 'real') that you can see quite clearly the layout of the rooms, etc, which they've helpfully labeled with probably uses. The picture above shows niches near the entrance which was either for clothes or statues (which to me sounds like a future archaeologist saying "these holes you find in every house may either be rubbish bins or toilets").
Continuing just a little way, we hit the lovely little town of Hexham. 
Their abbey, still in use as the parish C of E church, was built in the twelfth century - on the ruins of the one constructed in the 670s. The photo was taken from a mezzanine-type landing they've got above the entrance.
Our last sticky beak for the day was at Corbridge. There was apparently Roman settlement here from soon after Claudius' successful invasion of the island (mid first century), and there's both a military fort and a substantial civilian settlement. Making matters interesting for the archaeologists, lots of sections were built over and re-modeled, so it's not always clear which bit is from which era.
We ended our day in Ovington, a very small village (actually, I'm not sure it is a village; apparently it has to have a church for it to be a village, otherwise it's a hamlet); our B&B is lovely and the bikes are in the stable with some inquisitive horses.
