Another early start and I'm in good nick, hitting a smooth rhythm on the A77 as it loops around Prestwick Airport and northwards past Troon. It's a dual carriageway, but traffic's light at this hour.
We reach the coast at
Ardrossan, but it's a far cry from Wish You Were Here. Battered caravans litter the roadside, in a different league from the sleek motor homes seen in Rock.Needing fuel, we spot a suitable establishment in Fairlie - Michelle's Fast Food. I handle the translation for Rod, and we spend some pleasant minutes dispatching a 'breakfast in
a box', including black pudding and a potato waffle that looks like a deep-fried napkin.
The Scottish Sun informs us that this summer has three times the normal rainfall, and, true to form, we're immediately riding through a raincloud. Getting used to the 'underwater cycling' experience, we reach Western Ferries at Gourock, to cross the Clyde estuary.They clearly feel sorry for a couple of drowned rats, and issue concessionary tickets. No longer pedalling I'm now getting cold again, so head for the only warm place on the ship. But there's only so long you can hang around the gents before arousing suspicion....
Spirits are raised as we disembark at Hunter's Quay and find a roadside cafe. The difference in ambiance north of the Clyde is remarkable...this is scenic tourist territory, and we forget our damp misery as we ride beside lochs to reach our next overnight at Inveraray youth hostel.
The room is tiny, and we take it in turns to change (and to breathe out...) There's a notice saying no-one below the age of seven to use the upper bunk - but they're the only ones who can get up there! As Rod had taken the sofabed in the Travelodges I go aloft, and work out a technique for de-bunking, which essentially involves falling with my palms against the wall opposite and sliding down. I'd like to apologise to the occupants of room 6 for any lack of sleep they may have experienced.
83 miles in 7 hours.
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