These are our final days in Scotland. We are back in Edinburgh, having done what feels like a full circle of the country while barely scratching the surface. All up, dear Bertie the Bicycle has rolled just over 5000kms. After Matt's run in with the sheep, we continued north-west towards Thurso, from where we were to catch a ferry to Orkney. Evidently we did something right on Lewis, because the mainland weather gods were kind to us - giving us sunshine under which to roll through little highland towns that sprung up after the clearances. Orkney, however, has a strong Norse connection. Evidently we did something to annoy Odin, because as our ferry pulled away from port, thunderclouds rolled in and white caps appeared to throw us about. Perhaps a sheep sacrifice was required - for the three days we were there, the rain and headwinds kept up, making for the most miserable riding I have ever done. After a 3 hour, 30km epic into blisteringly cold sleet, which I gather has become the stuff of legend (Bike shop guy: 'That was you out yesterday? I've never seen such miserable faces') we reached the conclusion that perhaps indoor activities were a better option.
We stay with Becky and Torquil and two of their very entertaining daughters. They are keen triathletes who give us a warm welcome and a base from which to explore the pretty town of Kirkwall. Kirkwall has the quirky hipster thing going on, with cute boutiques and by far the best coffee in Scotland. We intersperse espressos with archeological site visits and a toasty warm distillery tour.
From Orkney, we catch a late night ferry back to Aberdeen. Matt's capacity to befriend strangers is usually a blessing, however it does occasionally result in me attempting to hold my eyes open at 1 am while an American woman explains that she is back in Scotland looking for her ancestral roots because sniffing the flora and fauna of your ancestral home 'really awakens your cellular DNA'. Hmm...
We cycle back to Edinburgh from Aberdeen with a quick stop at Balmoral to say 'hi' to Her Mag. It is a bit of a shock to be back in such a large city after feeling so remote for more than a month. We spend an afternoon gawking at curios in the surgical history museum. Who knew kidney stones could look that interesting? I determine that if Matt is going to be a viking, I am going to be a barber/surgeon. Far more exciting career move, I think. It is nice to be in a position to find live music (Vegas jump/jive last night) and have whatever we want for dinner (Sudanese tonight). The food in country Scotland, while strongly focussed on home made, has not been exactly gourmet. (I will, however, give a prize for creativite use of oats.)
I have been disappointed to discover that cycling 100 kms a day fully loaded does not mean you can eat as many scones as you want. This may be because the number of scones you want is inversely proportionate to the number you ought to have... I have also finally managed to convince Matt that he cannot live off bread and pasta alone, but needs to eat more protein. It may be that he is inspired by the Vuelta, but I appear to have created a monster that counts the protein content of everything and is single-handedly propping up the UK dairy industry.
Off next to Switzerland. Farewell Cuillins and Munros. Farewell real ale and good whisky. Farewell sheep. Farewell coos. Farewell wee midgy mcsnidges. Till next time.
