Chris and Jane (our very good friends from Melbourne) arrived safely in Ayr late on Friday night, after touching down in London just a few hours earlier - so were just raring to get going. I did do the right thing and offer Chris the day off - A) because of his jet lag, and B) because of the predicted weather. He declined, which was just as well as he'd never have squeezed into the little Focus - bless her. It was great for Maddie and I to have company - what with the lovely weather and all we'd been going a bit stir crazy. Gerry was bang on time, unfortunate really given the amount of faffing we were doing to get Maddie's bike together for Chris. So it was close to 11am before we set off - and for the first few miles I had to get used to riding with people again.
Our first port of call was Royal Troon Golf Club - sadly not for a friendly three ball - but just a few photos in front of the gates (Chris and I decided to take up boxing stances, as we had done last year for a photo on a beach at Loch-Ard Gorge in Oz, Gerry did something funny with his leg - I didn't ask!). The Focus past us as we set off and seeing Jane's cheery/bleary smile made me glad that Maddie finally had someone normal to keep her company).
We were quickly through Kilmaurs and Stewarton and heading through the lanes towards the subburbs of South West Glasgow. After Lugton we missed our turning and ended up a tad lost. We ended up riding into a small town in the outskirts which we still dont know the name of - but it had a Bag-Pipe Band playing (I think from Pakistan?!?) and it seemed as good a place as any to stop and eat. Chris was ready to eat a cow but a Greggs sarnie and Sausage roll had to suffice. Not sure if the Australians have particualrly good sausage rolls or ours are particularly poor but Chris was somewhat underwhelmed with regards the quality of sausagemeat on show.
Crosslee provided us with smooth, freshly laid (we decided to ignore the road closed signs) tarmac so with food in our bellies and some nice macadams the pace picked up and we were soon crossing the Clyde by way of the Erskine Bridge. We stopped to admire the impressive views and the merits of the bridge (that may have just been me). Unfortunately we had to lose Gerry at this point which was sad, but he had family duties calling so he peeled off and it was left for me and Chris to work out a safe passage to Loch Lomond (the road had turned into a dual carriageway and it seemed everyone was late for something). We couldn't see a safer alternative so just got our heads down and pedalled North. The flipside of defying the rather slim odds was that progress was rapid and the relief that we managed to arrive at the shores of Loch Lomond without joining the hedgehogs, grouse etc amongst the roadkill rank and file, came surprisingly quickly.
Chris spotted a cycle lane that had been 'laid' along the whole western coastline of the loch. Well, I say laid, essentially it was just a pavement, and at times barely that, but it kept us off the road and gave us a millionaire's view of the all Loch Lomonds finest. We stopped to admire the fairways and greensof Loch Lomond Golf Club - the home of the Scottish Open and apparently the worlds most exclusive course, only to find out we were on 'The Carrick', a poorer (though that is relative) realtion. A few miles later we took some shots of the real thing. At the gates stood two guard dogs. Not real dogs - but two Dark Green Range Rovers. It was clear we weren't to go much closer unless we wanted to see what was at the bottom of the loch, so we quickly continued our passage North. The path runs all the way to Tarbet where we were to peel off West to Loch Long and Arrochar. We reached Tarbet with tired, but miraculously still dry, legs, only to find out there our two Tarbets on the Loch edge, and we were at the first. We later went on to describe a false summit on a climb as a 'Tarbet'. Amusing.
The second Tarbet was reached with suspicious relief and a short climb lead us to a descent into the pretty village of Arrochar, where we were in the luxury of a B&B. On the descent we passed a riduculous excuse for an RBS branch.
The views of Loch Long (it is long, and quite wide, but not as wide as it is long) and the looming mountains on the North shore (Beinn An Lochan, The Cobbler and Beinn Narnain) were spectacular, and a bit intimidating as somehow the passage we were to make across them tomorrow was by the infamous 'Rest and Be Thankful'.
We agreed it was a pity just one night was to be had, despite the absence of decent places to eat. Clearly the B&B was aware of this and laid on the best breakfast (at least in the Northern Hemisphere).
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