Where Our Narrator And His Partner In Crime Nearly Meet Their Maker.
Breakfast in ‘Aye Servus’ was served by Maria at 07:30 as we wanted an earlier start on the day, and once more Ray tucked into a huge meal while I struggled through cereal and some bacon and toast. We packed our bags, and stepped into slightly damp cycle gear which had been washed in the shower the night before.
Hannah was unhappy about leaving, but she had to go back to work the on the following Monday and Mike who had been such a stalwart was hankering to get back behind the bar. We parted company under a light drizzle as Ray and I left them packing their things in the car, and the Manly Steed sorrowfully carried me back to the main road before turning left and back onto the A82.
Ray and I pedalled our way along the road with Loch Lomond on our left, and we frequently got glimpses of Ben Lomond shrouded in cloud on the far side. Mike and Han overtook us for the last time beeping and waving through the sunroof, before disappearing around a corner and heading for Glasgow and the journey home to Twickenham. It would take them nine and a half hours, and us another 7 days or so to get roughly parallel with them.
It is all in all a very pleasant road which runs along Lomondside, and we were fortunate enough to be next to a bus shelter when the rain came washing towards us in a solid-seeming sheet so we stopped for ten minutes or so in the dry until the worst was over. The sky continued to open on us every half hour or so, but we put on our waterproofs and carried on regardless.
I was feeling hungry after the first 10 miles or so, and we decided to stop for a second breakfast in Duck Bay Marina which consisted of coffee and bacon sandwiches washed down with more coffee and chocolate cake. We both agreed that we felt quite exposed without the support team.
After about half an hour we got back on the bikes, and soon the miles were being eaten up as we headed towards Balloch and Alexandria. We left the A82 just before it turned into a dual carriageway and pedalled through Alexandria and Renton, and then down onto the A814 through some attractive industrial estates before rejoining the A82 just before Milton.
This decision was one that proved to be a near fatal error. The A82 is very narrow at this point, and we should in hindsight have got back off it and cycled through Old Kilpatrick to find a route up to the Erskine Bridge. Hindsight, as they say, is 20:20 vision.
We cycled along being overtaken by two lanes of cars with no hard shoulder or really any protection against 60-70 mph traffic. I prayed silently to the memory of the chap who had died on his 12th End to End for a bit of help, and we pounded along as fast as possible to get to our junction which would put us back on safe ground.
We were half a mile from the exit when a silver Mercedes with( I can only assume a near sighted driver) whizzed past us, actually brushing my pannier and missing Ray by about a foot as the complete idiot swerved over the white line and then shot off into the distance. That half mile went by quickly as we reached speeds hitherto unseen on the Manly Steed and its counterpart, and we stopped in a lay-by to take a deep breath and shakily let the adrenaline and fear drain from our systems. I have come to understand something about Mercedes drivers over the last few months: they never look where they are going. Every time we have had a near miss it has been with a Merc, or occasionally a BMW.
Ray noticed a shard of broken glass was embedded in his tire and so we took a few minutes to remove that and check that we were still in one piece. The Manly Steed was fine other than not wanting to try that again, although it was interesting to note that there was a muddy smear down the outside of my pannier which hadn’t been there the last time we stopped. I gave a silent prayer of thanks to our guardian angel, and then we cycled up onto the Erskine Bridge for a stunning view of Glasgow and the River Clyde.
Once over the bridge (and it’s big!!) we picked up the A726 and passed Glasgow International airport on our left as we went along some quiet roads, stopping for a photo or two. Then onwards to Paisley, which is memorable only for its lack of anything of interest, before heading down to Barrhead on the B774. From there we took the A736 to Lugton following a seemingly endless road which wended its way through a patchwork of fields interspersed with small wooded areas.
It was now getting on for 14:30 and we had yet to stop for lunch, and I was starting to bonk in a less than exciting way. We stopped to ask two chaps who were perched on a ladder fixing a signpost where the next pub serving food was, and were told to try The Canny Man in Lugton as they did decent lunches. We were told that it was only a few miles further on, and so we pedalled ever onwards arriving just after 15:00 to be told that the kitchen was closed. The look on my face as I ordered coffee, Coke, and water must have elicited sympathy in the girl behind the bar as she produced a plate of biscuits with our drinks.
I spent a couple of minutes in the toilet warming up my sodden top under the hand dryer, and then joined Ray to sit brokenly staring at the rain and wishing for a burger. The manager popped over and told us that there was no charge for the biscuits, and we finished our drinks and went back out into the rain before pedalling back up the road and hooking a right to join the A735 Dunlop road. We stopped in Dunlop and bought some filled bread rolls in the Post Office cum village shop at about 16:00, and the sun blessed us with its presence for the first time all day. We sat enjoying the warmth on the pavement with our backs to the shop, and with food inside us and a bit of sunshine we were ready to continue on.
We were now properly into the lowlands of Scotland, and the scenery was reminiscent of a rural idyll of bygone days. The close shave of the A82 faded back into our memories as we pedalled through to Stewarton and then onto Kilmaurs. We bypassed Kilmarnock and instead followed B roads to Crosshouse and Gatehead before trying to pick up the Tarbolton road. Due to some erroneous navigation (and I won’t point fingers but Ray had the map and it was his fault) we ended up climbing a small mountain and joining the correct route more by luck than judgement.
It was now starting to get later in the day, and we had been in the saddle for eight hours without a proper break for lunch. We reached Tarbolton and found a signpost to Stair which was like water to a man in the desert, and cycled ever onwards. We stopped for Ray to massage his knee once more, and then we remounted and reached the Stair Inn at 18:50 tired but exhilarated.
The Stair Inn is quaintly picturesque to say the least. I checked us into our twin room while Ray waited with the steeds, and then we tethered them for the night in an outbuilding by the kitchen. The shower was much needed and I washed my clothes whilst wearily wondering what tomorrow might bring, and we both collapsed onto our beds with wet gear draped over radiators.
We went downstairs to the bar and ate a brilliant meal while the place filled up around us as Friday night is Live Music Nite in the Stair Inn and there was also a wedding happening locally. After a couple of pints we headed back up to our room and stretched out reading with the TV on. The music started up, and joy of joys!! Our room was directly above the stage with no soundproofing between us and the local band.
Perhaps unsurprisingly we didn’t care and the both of us turned our lights out to the sound of Queen’s “Another One Bites The Dust” being covered quite badly. I hurt in a lot of places, and missed Hannah. Sleep came quickly and I thought that perhaps Fate had given us a bit of a break after the excitement of the day.
I was wrong of course.
The alarm kicked in once more at 7:30, and Day 6 was here and we had done just over 330 miles in 5 days.
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