How low can you go? I know how low I can go; I was there for most of today. Just because this trip is self-inflicted, don’t expect me to scoot along like Debbie Reynolds all the time.
I have decided that Samye Ling doesn’t really suit me. I had a dorm to myself and it was comfy but I found a lot of the residents to be bad-tempered, which isn’t very Buddhist, and unsmiling. I think they are missing the point.
As for the cycling, how would you like it? The first forty miles I didn’t see another soul except sheep and they ran away from me. I covered the hills of Eskdalemuir at 3.5mph, in hamster-wheel gear, with a head wind and it was so cold I had the full weather gear on - woolly helmet, trousers, jersey. And no coffee stops for 40 miles. What kind of a country is this? I want to go back to England.
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| Goodbye Eskdalemuir. |
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| Hello Ettrick Valley. |
To pass these dull miles, I listened to Frank Sinatra on the MP3 player and sometimes joined in, so that horses three fields away looked over at me and rolled their eyes.
Part of the problem today was that I was not looking forward to spending the night in Embra Yoof Hostel. I had too many nights in cheap B&Bs in Embra during the SEPA years and am now mentally scarred.
However, I had plenty of time to think of an alternative as I slogged along. I decided to cycle to an Edinburgh railway station , catch the train to Dundee and sleep at home then go back to the same station in the morning and seamlessly resume my journey. Les said she would pick me up in Dundee and take me back to the train in the morning. This thought was immensely cheering for me and so I survived the ignominy of getting lost in Embra and having to follow the canal until I was back on familiar ground.
Me and Bikey, or should I say Bikey and I, are now warm on the train. We have had a cup of tea and are looking forward to getting home for the first time in 16 days.
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