Saturday 16th August – JOGLE Day 6: Stair to Annan. 71 miles travelled.

Where Our Narrator And His Partner In Crime Experience A Truly Hellish Day, Both Give Up, But Don’t Tell Each Other And So Carry On.

Neither of us wanted to get up, but there is only so much groaning and complaining that you can do before you realise that you might miss breakfast if you don’t get up soon. I rolled out of bed (cue much wincing and belaboured stretching of tired muscles) and went and splashed water on my face before dressing and heading downstairs with Ray.

Breakfast was a pleasant affair in the Stair Inn, and the owner served us the usual mix of cereals, porridge, and cooked breakfast which I forced my way through with the usual mutterings and dark looks at Ray as he wolfed down his third bit of toast and asked for seconds of bacon. The weather was looking ok, but we had watched a weather report the night before which talked of strong winds.

When we asked the publican if he had any updates on this, he replied cheerfully “Yep. It’s gonna be gusting between 20 and 40 miles per hour and it’s coming in from south of the country. You’ll be heading right into it!!”

I won’t repeat my thoughts on our overly cheery host, but with my overly sensitive buttocks sending spikes of what can only be classed ‘sensation’ shooting up my spine, I was potentially going to be quite uncharitable. Our host, it turned, was not and he offered us £10.00 towards the charity fund which we accepted gracefully (secretly glad it was a note, and not in change as that would have weighed us down)

After breakfast we repaired to our room to pack and go through the usual routine of climbing into slightly damp cycle gear. Ray watched some of the results from the Beijing Olympics (we were starting to do quite well apparently) while I climbed into bed and tried to will myself to Land’s End.

It didn’t happen.

At about 9:15 we finally gave into the inevitable, picked up our bags, and went back down to pay for the room and retrieve the bikes. The Manly Steed and it’s smaller counterpart had fared well over night (no doubt regaling the kitchen staff with tales of derring do in the far, bitter north) and after a quick rub down and a check of the tyre pressure seemed ship-shape and ready to.

Panniers strapped to the side, we limbered up briefly before stepping back into the saddle for the sixth consecutive day. The clouds overhead were lowering and moving at a fair pace across the sky, and it was a tad chilly.

“It doesn’t look so bad.” I said to Ray, who looked back at me and smiled. Sometimes you don’t need to say anything.

We pulled out of the car park, and were immediately into a steep hill which went on for a couple of hundred yards before gently descending into rural farmland at its best. 100 yards into the hill my right quadricep (that’s thigh muscle to you and me) pinged in an excitingly painful way causing me to swear my way to the top and pull over for an episode of manly stretching and Ibulieve rubbing.

It became apparent after a mile or two that the thigh was going continue hurting and get worse if we didn’t do something drastic, and so Ray offered up the tubigrip which had been supporting his knee claiming that he didn’t need it anymore. Not that tubigrip is drastic, but it was all we had at the time.

We pedalled the remaining miles on the B730 to a small village called Coalhall, and then turned left onto the A70 towards Ochiltree, Cumnock, and the A76 which would lead us to Dumfries and then Annan, our target for the day.

On a beautiful day, the A70 will afford you spectacular views over the Scottish lowlands as it rises and falls in rolling manner, passing through farmland and the odd pretty town. On a windy day, when your thigh is hurting and you are starting to get paranoid about how hard you can push it before it gets worse, there is really only one word for the A70.

Exposed.

At times there was nothing between us and the wind sweeping up from the Solway Firth other than the occasional hedgerow and herd of cows. We dug in, and eventually (swapping the lead many times) reach the A76 at Cumnock. After a quick stop to buy GoGo Juice and a large quantity of chocolate bars (and the odd Caramac – lovely stuff) we hurled ourselves into the teeth of the wind once more and pedalled onwards passing through dual carriageway and standard A roads as we went.

We passed New Cumnock (Cumnock being so good they just had to build a new one) and then were into a stretch of road which was seemingly an endless series of ups and downs. I have mentioned in the past that on the flat and downhill stretches I really come into my own. When you combine 20 to 30 miles an hour (downhill obviously) with nearly 16 stone you get a lot of momentum, and my ability to punch through headwinds with Ray tucked in behind me has become near legendary in The Rifleman pub of Fourth Cross Road, Twickenham.

On this day, it made not a blind bit of difference. With the wind shrieking its defiance at any near legendary abilities I might have (and there are a few, people, but this is about cycling so you’ll just have to hear about them another time) I was having to pedal downhill to get anywhere close to even 20 mph, the flat sections were painful, and if Ray hadn’t taken the lead up the hilly sections I’d probably have still have been on the A76 just north of Sanquhar at nightfall.

We passed through some small villages as we went but they seemed deserted as people far cleverer than we stayed indoors or more importantly in the pub. We decided on taking breaks every 5 miles or so to try to keep ourselves in some sort of positive mind frame, but it soon became apparent that were getting nowhere fast. On top of everything else, the rain started to fall at about 10:30 so we were battling against that as well.

It was really all too much.

We arrived in the town of Sanquhar at about 1:30 having covered about 27 miles or so to find that Sanquhar was shut because there was a procession / festival including skirling bagpipes and full tartan regalia being held there for a couple of hours. We decided that perhaps now might be a good time to stop for lunch, and made our way to the roadside cafe next to a petrol station. We tethered the steeds outside carefully out of the wind, and the Manly Steed eyed me reproachfully as I grabbed our gear and went inside.

The inside of the cafe was as steamy as a damp locker room but as welcoming a place as I had seen in a long time. We loaded up on hot food and coffee, and gradually my hatred of the world in general eased back to its usual slightly mocking position. In its place settled a depression and feeling of despair. We weren’t getting anywhere, had just spent 4 hours battling through some horrific weather, and I just couldn’t see how we were to make more than another 35 miles in the afternoon.

I looked at Ray, who was staring into the bottom of his coffee cup, who looked up at me. Sometimes you really don’t have to say anything. I felt like bursting into tears.

We were both at rock bottom and something had to give. We had never experienced anything like this before, and after five and a half days on the road and more than 350 miles covered we were exhausted and had run out of steam.

Paying for lunch, we forced ourselves out into the wind and occasional rain to continue onwards. We had no choice: Dumfries was the nearest town of any size, and I was already planning escape routes.

It is quite amazing what the sun will do for you. I have said this before, I believe. As we headed south the clouds lifted, and it became warm enough for us to remove our soaking waterproofs. The wind was still strong and still in our faces, and we still had to scrabble and fight for any mileage, but we caught occasional glimpses of golden sunshine as we slogged onwards.

At Cannonbridge we took a break, resting on a grassy bank a couple of yards from a signpost telling us we only had another 16 miles to go till Dumfries. After that, there was another 16 miles to Annan, and we had managed through hard and painful work to cover more than half of our daily distance.

The sun came out, and we ate some chocolate bars. A wasp landed on Ray’s back, and I surprised myself by letting it crawl onto my hand rather than flicking it off him and running around screaming like a small child, as I normally would have. I watched it as it sunned itself for about five minutes on my finger before coaxing it off with a piece of chocolate from my Twix wrapper. I have always been afraid of wasps, but in that moment I felt an affinity for something so small in the hands of something so large.

We got back on the steeds, and I rolled out my favourite line: “As one shepherd said to the other: let’s get the flock out of here.” Ray groaned, smiled, and we set off southwards once more.

The remaining miles in to Dumfries passed under our wheels as we slogged onwards, and the occasional signpost helped us along as we passed through Thornhill, Auldgirth and Holywood (I looked around for a movie studio but saw nothing – I had been looking for someone to make “Will Rowe: The Wilderness Years” for some time) until we joined the A75 as it looped around the town centre. We made slower progress using pavements rather than dicing with death and silver Mercedes on the dual carriageway sections as it bypassed the town on a series of raised bridges, and then we were onto solid dual carriageway with a proper hard shoulder to ride on.

At Collins we took our lives in our own hands by crossing a couple of lanes of traffic to turn right onto the B724 and take the back roads to Annan. We were exhausted by then and bonking massively (come on people – you’ve been so good till now!) so out came the emergency Stingers, and we called ahead to the B&B to let them know that were definitely going to be there, although a little later than planned.

It may have been the exhaustion, but the name of the villages set me off laughing as we went along which was a mistake as the road is quite hilly at times. We passed through Mouswald (No mice that I could see), Clarenceville (didn’t see anyone called Clarence) and Cummertrees (No trees... err... doing... err... anything at all)

We were nearly run off the road by a motorbike, though, which was refreshing as normally it’s cars or campervans.

Annan couldn’t come soon enough, and we rolled into the high street at about 18:30. A quick call to our B&B, The Old Rectory, and Dave our host gave us directions which he said were straightforward but which we still managed to get wrong.

We tethered the steeds in Dave’s shed and they looked happy to have some quiet time to themselves after the hideousness of the day. Our room was a comfortable twin with an ensuite shower which I hurled myself into almost immediately, and then I stretched out on my bed while Ray took his turn.

Dinner was a confused affair in a local restaurant which managed to serve me a deep fried starter involving Mexican, Chinese, and Scottish influences (Jalapeno peppers filled with cream cheese, sweet chilli dip, and oatcakes) in one dish, and where the beer was quite, quite bad. However, on a Saturday night you take what you can get.

We talked of the day, and how hard it had been, and I confided guiltily to Ray that I had decided at one point to give up and go home. He smiled.

“So did I. I only carried on because you were.” He said.

We both started laughing, as that was the same reason I had got as far as I did, and it was the kind of laugh that releases all of that pent up anger and frustration.

I went to bed that night feeling that if things did get worse, that I’d be able to get through it, because as long as you are moving forwards you are getting somewhere.

Sometimes I forget that.

As always, my alarm went off after too short a time, and it was Sunday morning. We had been on the road almost a week, and today we were going to be in England.