Before we left home, it was a big decision to make - to blog or not to blog? Some of those people who know me and love me were worried that it would be too much to write the blog as well as cycle what for me is quite a distance, every day except rest days. Reg left the final decision to me, but I knew he wanted me to write it, (a) for posterity, and (b) because we've been asked to talk about our journey, and I won't remember it unless I write it down, The days would all blur into each other. I have to think really hard to remember what yesterday's hotel room was like, we've stayed in so many.
I'm overjoyed that the computer seems to be connecting to the internet now. I set the alarm and write the blog in bed in the early morning, before I get ready. Reg is fast asleep beside me. I'm one of those "lark" people who is at their best in the morning.
It's Saturday, and an exciting day, as we'll be crossing over the border into Scotland. We enjoy a good breakfast, then pop into the bakery across the road to buy filled rolls and crisps for lunch. We're soon on our way, not having seen much of Carlisle.
We cycle along quiet "A" and "B" roads - there's very little traffic at all. It's about 10 miles to Gretna, the first town across the Scottish border. When we finally reach the "Welcome to Scotland" sign at the side of the road, we stop to take photos. We have a welcome "pit stop" in the Gretna Inn. They don't do green tea, so Reg fishes a tea bag and slice of lemon from out of his pannier and they provide the hot water. They do do cappuccino though!
As we are coming up the hill to Gretna, a stagecoach with feather-boa'd horses, with driver in livery, emerges from a side road in front of us - no bride though! But already we see venues offering wedding packages - "we will not be beaten on price".
"Is Gretna the same place as Gretna Green?" I ask the waitress. She replies no, Gretna Green is about a half a mile up the road. That's where couples actually get married, I guess. Jan, I have a feeling you and Phil might know something about this!
Before leaving Gretna, we phone our guest house for this evening, to check whether there is anywhere within walking distance to get a meal. We don't think there is, as it's right out in the country. Our host confirms that the nearest place to eat is a mile away, which is what we thought.
"What we might do then," I tell our host, "is have a meal at lunchtime, and have a picnic tonight,if that's alright with you. We won't want to take our bikes out again when we get there."
Our host is very understanding, and says this will be fine.
We are absolutely loving cycling in Scotland, because the roads are so quiet. We sometimes cycle a few miles without seeing a car. In one sleepy village, we go down a quiet leafy lane for a toilet stop and drink of water. Afterwards we start chatting to a local resident, who is interested to hear about our trip.
"I love the Scottish accent," Reg tells him. I say that I'm surprised at how immediately the accent changes from a Cumbrian accent, before the border, to a Scottish accent as soon as you cross over into Scotland.
It's lovely to be cycling in the dry, when we got so wet yesterday. We have our overshoes dangling from our panniers to dry them out. Our difficulty today, as always, is that we want to get 20 miles under our belt before lunch - but will we find a pub still open for food at about 2.30pm? Luckily as we ride through the small quiet town of Ecclefechan we see a hotel which serves food until 3.00pm. There isn't a lot of choice, but it means we can have our main meal of the day.
We are on gently undulating roads today - some uphills, but nothing unmanageable. I persuade Reg to stop at a garage where I buy a Magnum. It's delicious! Reg doesn't want one. After we've cycled a bit more, I ask Reg the question that I dare not ask too often:
"How many miles have we done? How many miles to go?"
" We've done 28. About 11 miles to go. After another 7 miles, we can stop and have a cuppa from our flasks." Reg is dangling this carrot at me to encourage me to keep going.
"Ok," I reply. By the time we've done another 7 miles, I'm desperate for a break. We flop down on an area of green by the roadside. Tea never tasted so good.
The last few miles to our destination each day seems to go on forever, as I am longing to just be there - then suddenly Reg says, "This is it, isn't it?"
We're in an area of beautiful mountain scenery, There's a long gravelly drive, which I have to walk up as I'm not good with gravel. Reg has already disappeared to the top. The drive meanders through a shady wild wood and emerges into the open to reveal a beautiful mansion, with panoramic views.
Our hosts Sally and Alistair, and their two young children Samantha and Callum, greet us warmly.
The room is beautiful. And there's a bath! It's wonderful to have a long hot soak, eat our picnic, and then to phone Elaine and have a chat.
I'm overjoyed that the computer seems to be connecting to the internet now. I set the alarm and write the blog in bed in the early morning, before I get ready. Reg is fast asleep beside me. I'm one of those "lark" people who is at their best in the morning.
It's Saturday, and an exciting day, as we'll be crossing over the border into Scotland. We enjoy a good breakfast, then pop into the bakery across the road to buy filled rolls and crisps for lunch. We're soon on our way, not having seen much of Carlisle.
We cycle along quiet "A" and "B" roads - there's very little traffic at all. It's about 10 miles to Gretna, the first town across the Scottish border. When we finally reach the "Welcome to Scotland" sign at the side of the road, we stop to take photos. We have a welcome "pit stop" in the Gretna Inn. They don't do green tea, so Reg fishes a tea bag and slice of lemon from out of his pannier and they provide the hot water. They do do cappuccino though!
As we are coming up the hill to Gretna, a stagecoach with feather-boa'd horses, with driver in livery, emerges from a side road in front of us - no bride though! But already we see venues offering wedding packages - "we will not be beaten on price".
"Is Gretna the same place as Gretna Green?" I ask the waitress. She replies no, Gretna Green is about a half a mile up the road. That's where couples actually get married, I guess. Jan, I have a feeling you and Phil might know something about this!
Before leaving Gretna, we phone our guest house for this evening, to check whether there is anywhere within walking distance to get a meal. We don't think there is, as it's right out in the country. Our host confirms that the nearest place to eat is a mile away, which is what we thought.
"What we might do then," I tell our host, "is have a meal at lunchtime, and have a picnic tonight,if that's alright with you. We won't want to take our bikes out again when we get there."
Our host is very understanding, and says this will be fine.
We are absolutely loving cycling in Scotland, because the roads are so quiet. We sometimes cycle a few miles without seeing a car. In one sleepy village, we go down a quiet leafy lane for a toilet stop and drink of water. Afterwards we start chatting to a local resident, who is interested to hear about our trip.
"I love the Scottish accent," Reg tells him. I say that I'm surprised at how immediately the accent changes from a Cumbrian accent, before the border, to a Scottish accent as soon as you cross over into Scotland.
It's lovely to be cycling in the dry, when we got so wet yesterday. We have our overshoes dangling from our panniers to dry them out. Our difficulty today, as always, is that we want to get 20 miles under our belt before lunch - but will we find a pub still open for food at about 2.30pm? Luckily as we ride through the small quiet town of Ecclefechan we see a hotel which serves food until 3.00pm. There isn't a lot of choice, but it means we can have our main meal of the day.
We are on gently undulating roads today - some uphills, but nothing unmanageable. I persuade Reg to stop at a garage where I buy a Magnum. It's delicious! Reg doesn't want one. After we've cycled a bit more, I ask Reg the question that I dare not ask too often:
"How many miles have we done? How many miles to go?"
" We've done 28. About 11 miles to go. After another 7 miles, we can stop and have a cuppa from our flasks." Reg is dangling this carrot at me to encourage me to keep going.
"Ok," I reply. By the time we've done another 7 miles, I'm desperate for a break. We flop down on an area of green by the roadside. Tea never tasted so good.
The last few miles to our destination each day seems to go on forever, as I am longing to just be there - then suddenly Reg says, "This is it, isn't it?"
We're in an area of beautiful mountain scenery, There's a long gravelly drive, which I have to walk up as I'm not good with gravel. Reg has already disappeared to the top. The drive meanders through a shady wild wood and emerges into the open to reveal a beautiful mansion, with panoramic views.
Our hosts Sally and Alistair, and their two young children Samantha and Callum, greet us warmly.
The room is beautiful. And there's a bath! It's wonderful to have a long hot soak, eat our picnic, and then to phone Elaine and have a chat.
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