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July 26 Wednesday sunny 26º C Bicycle touring Scotland We bicycled a side road, following Loch Ken, when A712 went straight. We cycled through rural sheep and cattle land. Soon we came to an old church built in 1734 (if my roman numerals are correct). A massive graveyard featured extra large headstones. If one of those things fell on you, it would kill you. The wind kept the flies down and we had a nice view across the water to the tidy village of Crossmichael, Scotland, with its resident sailboats anchored in the bay. Bicycling south we passed Threave Castle, glimpsing its tower across the meadows. It is built on an island in the River Dee. Supposedly, if you ring the bell, a boatman will row over to take you to the castle. We found a pedestrian bridge over a brown creek with lovely long strands of green grass waving in the current. It was a dandy place of solitude away from bustling downtown Dalbeattie, Scotland, where we had enjoyed ten ice cream Revels. With our touring bicycles nearby we relaxed
in the sun. Two matrons came walking along. "You should
be paddling your toes in the drink," one advised. Fresh and clean, we cycled to the town of New Abbey, Scotland to view Sweetheart Abbey. The name, Sweetheart Abbey, comes from a woman who is buried with her husband's embalmed heart. Yikes. I'm not sure that meant she loved him or not. The Sweetheart Abbey grounds are immaculate. Looks more like a golf green than an abbey. Maybe the monks are big golfers? The ruined abbey arches are well preserved, as well as half an outline of a latticed window. In Dumfries, Scotland, we pulled our bicycles to a stop to make a pancake supper. The milk I had been carrying in my pannier was too warm and too shaken. So shaken in fact that the milk had turned into a coagulated mixture with lumps of milky-white butter. Hey, now we have butter for our pancakes! The pancakes tasted good, even though the milk looked disgusting. Speaking of disgusting, I saw blood pudding in a store - now that's disgusting. Seven miles from the Scottish town of * we came to Caeriaverock Castle. It has a splendid moat around it. Two boys were wrestling on the bank, taking turns rolling down toward the moat, just barely stopping before splashdown. The back of the castle is in ruin. It gives a good idea of how castles were built. The view shows an outside triangular shape and then an X-ray view of the inside of the castle. We bicycle about a mile from the castle, and find a free bicycle camping spot in an estuary. Friendly Scottish mosquitoes buzz a sweet lullaby to put us to sleep. Arrgh! I just saw a large earwig scuttling across my Thermarest camprest. In my haste to dispose of the critter, I bumped the candle we are using to write in our bicycle touring journals accidentally knocking wax onto Sharon's bicycle touring journal, and the sleeping bag, which immediately sucked the wax up. The wax instantly turned into a hardened mass (or is that, mess?) inside the sleeping bag. I love these Scottish town names: Muckwater. They don't pull any punches in Scotland. Today we bicycled by Caulker Bush. Gotta be one of my favourites. Oh, yes, and Haugh of Urr. Not sure how that one got its name. Wonder if it was during the days when folks were drawn and quartered. "Well, we got half of 'er" |
