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July 29 Saturday sunny 32º C Bicycle touring England The rock ledge, crumbling above our free bicycle camp site, is in the form of flat thin pieces of shale. During the night I awoke to hear shale sliding down. They make a musical tinkling sound, much like glass wind chimes as they slid over other rocks. Unexplainably, my digital watch read July 1 this morning. My poor watch must figure with the recent sunshine, summer must just be beginning. As we look out from our lofty Lake District tent site on the lake below, we can see a canoe out on the water paddling along, rippling the mirror calm surface. Walkers are on a sand beach across the lake. Some on the beach appear to be in the midst of a quandary: To swim or not to swim? That is the question. We hear whistles as a sheep farmer gives instructions to his dog. Sharon and I exchange worried glances; we hope the sheep aren't being moved into our pasture. Alas, an hour later our worst fears are realized -- a flock of sheep shyly passes on the path in front of our tent. From where the gate leads into the pasture, we are out of sight, around a slight bend in the path and tucked back in a crook of the rock ledge. We can't be seen unless and until one comes right around the corner. We expect the farmer to discover us shortly, and wait on tenterhooks. But he never does come along, satisfied, I guess, that the sheep will find their own way once they're put through the gate. And they do -after a moment's hesitation when they see us - stopping to gape and sniff the air before cautiously proceeding to the luring green grass beyond. Soon the sheep have lost their inhibitions of us, and mill around the tent, chomping grass. Two rather adventurous woolly souls scramble up the steep loose shale scree slope. Behind the tent, they set off small avalanches of dust and rocks. Taking advantage of the heat, we head down to the lakeshore. Sharon goes for a refreshing dip in the lake while I sit at a picnic table. A family of four, with two young sons, goes hiking by. The little boys see our bicycles leaning against trees and and ask their Dad why we're not cycling. "Too hot for cycling," their Dad tells them. Yep, there's always some reason why we're not bicycling: too hot, too wet, too windy, too cold (kind of like a roofer). Actually, it's probably cooler to be bicycling than lying in the tent in the sun. At least one creates a slight breeze while pedaling and it feels cooler. Back up at our tent, we lay our Thermarest camprests in the sun to dry. We spread the sleeping bags over the bicycle seats and handlebars to air out. They smell very fresh when we retrieve them. The lambs begin calling for their mothers. It sounds like they're yelling "Maaa!" Each unanswered "Maaa!" raises each succeeding call until it's a bleating furtive wail. Finally, mother is spied, and off they dash for a quick dose of milk, tails wagging fiercely for the joy of the elixir. Sharon says they sound like they're calling "Meeee!" Just like kids these days, she says. The sunset was a spectacular sight with brilliant bright orange clouds. The best we've seen in a long while. |
