Breakfast in the Atholl Arms is in the vast dining room. It's the usual serve-yourself cereals, fruit juice, cooked breakfast if you want it, or here there's a choice of kippers instead, and Reg has that. We always have at least a small cooked breakfast, as it sets us up for the day.
When we're leaving, we chat for a minute to a hotel employee. He helped us take all our panniers to our room when we arrived.
"I'm a panel-beater by trade," he tells us. "I did that for 27 years. But it gets to you in the end.... all the fumes. It's a lonely job. Here, I'm meeting people all the time."
"This is a very old-fashioned place, like something out of the 1940's" I say. I'm remembering the very old letter in a glass case on the wall, dated 1940, requesting a room booking.
"Yes, but that's what people want, it's what they come here for. A stay in an old-fashioned Scottish country hotel."
Reg and I think - yes, it is nice, but for us, not the best value for money. We just needed somewhere to stay in this area. And this hotel is our most expensive yet.
There's a tiny convenience store around the back of the hotel, and we buy our sandwiches from the glum-faced man behind the counter - then we're on our way! Reg warns me that there won't be a coffee stop today - we're on B roads and cycle tracks this morning. It's not just the coffee I miss - it's the opportunity to have a short break and recharge our batteries.
The early part of the journey goes well. We are gently making our way uphill, but it's not too arduous. There's a majesty about the hills around us, and the feeling of space and openness. Whenever there is lovely scenery, Reg and I tend to have a little dialogue which goes something like this:
Me: "This is nice."
Reg: "This is wonderful! This is beautiful!" (Or words to that effect).
Soon it starts to rain quite heavily. We go through the rigmarole of putting our waterproofs on, and shelter under some trees for a while, before deciding to cycle on.
The rain doesn't last that long, but we're on a difficult up-and-down cycle track, the wind is against us, and it's hard going. Some cyclists pass us on the main road, a dual carriageway; the cycle track runs close to the road.
"They've got the right idea," I tell Reg. Because the cycle track is so difficult at this point, we decide we will try the main 'A' road for a while. It is easier cycling, but feels unsafe with huge lorries careering past us. We reach a sign which says, "Welcome to the Highlands" and stop to take some photos. By the time we stop for our picnic lunch though, at 2 pm, we seem to have made very little progress - we've only cycled 17 miles in 3 hours and didn't even have a coffee stop! And we have 18 more miles to go. I'm feeling very disillusioned, but Reg cheers me up. He can see all the gradients for the journey on Ride With GPS, an app on his phone.
"Don't worry, this afternoon will be different. It's mostly downhill."
As we're leaving the little picnic area by the side of the road, a Canadian who is parked nearby stops to ask about footpaths for walkers in the hills we see in front of us. We have quite a chat about our different journeys - he and his wife have visited southern Ireland, now Scotland, but not England - "That's for next time," he says.
After lunch we return to the cycle track, and although there's quite a lot of shingle on the tarmac, the track is much improved, and we return to it. Reg was right. The afternoon's cycling is mostly downhill - it's bliss! When we're just a couple of miles from our guest house, we see a cafe and are tempted to stop for a cuppa. The sky is looking very dark however; we decide to press on to try to beat the rain.
The guest house, "Coig Na Shee" is absolutely beautiful. Our bikes are put in the garage. Our room is spacious and comfortable - and, yes, you've guessed it - there's a bath!
As we settle in, the heavens open, and it rains until early evening.
"We were so lucky," we say to each other.
When, later on, we walk the 10 minutes to the local hotel/pub for food, everything is fresh and sweet-smelling after the rain.
When we're leaving, we chat for a minute to a hotel employee. He helped us take all our panniers to our room when we arrived.
"I'm a panel-beater by trade," he tells us. "I did that for 27 years. But it gets to you in the end.... all the fumes. It's a lonely job. Here, I'm meeting people all the time."
"This is a very old-fashioned place, like something out of the 1940's" I say. I'm remembering the very old letter in a glass case on the wall, dated 1940, requesting a room booking.
"Yes, but that's what people want, it's what they come here for. A stay in an old-fashioned Scottish country hotel."
Reg and I think - yes, it is nice, but for us, not the best value for money. We just needed somewhere to stay in this area. And this hotel is our most expensive yet.
There's a tiny convenience store around the back of the hotel, and we buy our sandwiches from the glum-faced man behind the counter - then we're on our way! Reg warns me that there won't be a coffee stop today - we're on B roads and cycle tracks this morning. It's not just the coffee I miss - it's the opportunity to have a short break and recharge our batteries.
The early part of the journey goes well. We are gently making our way uphill, but it's not too arduous. There's a majesty about the hills around us, and the feeling of space and openness. Whenever there is lovely scenery, Reg and I tend to have a little dialogue which goes something like this:
Me: "This is nice."
Reg: "This is wonderful! This is beautiful!" (Or words to that effect).
Soon it starts to rain quite heavily. We go through the rigmarole of putting our waterproofs on, and shelter under some trees for a while, before deciding to cycle on.
The rain doesn't last that long, but we're on a difficult up-and-down cycle track, the wind is against us, and it's hard going. Some cyclists pass us on the main road, a dual carriageway; the cycle track runs close to the road.
"They've got the right idea," I tell Reg. Because the cycle track is so difficult at this point, we decide we will try the main 'A' road for a while. It is easier cycling, but feels unsafe with huge lorries careering past us. We reach a sign which says, "Welcome to the Highlands" and stop to take some photos. By the time we stop for our picnic lunch though, at 2 pm, we seem to have made very little progress - we've only cycled 17 miles in 3 hours and didn't even have a coffee stop! And we have 18 more miles to go. I'm feeling very disillusioned, but Reg cheers me up. He can see all the gradients for the journey on Ride With GPS, an app on his phone.
"Don't worry, this afternoon will be different. It's mostly downhill."
As we're leaving the little picnic area by the side of the road, a Canadian who is parked nearby stops to ask about footpaths for walkers in the hills we see in front of us. We have quite a chat about our different journeys - he and his wife have visited southern Ireland, now Scotland, but not England - "That's for next time," he says.
After lunch we return to the cycle track, and although there's quite a lot of shingle on the tarmac, the track is much improved, and we return to it. Reg was right. The afternoon's cycling is mostly downhill - it's bliss! When we're just a couple of miles from our guest house, we see a cafe and are tempted to stop for a cuppa. The sky is looking very dark however; we decide to press on to try to beat the rain.
The guest house, "Coig Na Shee" is absolutely beautiful. Our bikes are put in the garage. Our room is spacious and comfortable - and, yes, you've guessed it - there's a bath!
As we settle in, the heavens open, and it rains until early evening.
"We were so lucky," we say to each other.
When, later on, we walk the 10 minutes to the local hotel/pub for food, everything is fresh and sweet-smelling after the rain.
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