Hunter's Quay Dunoon to Prestwick

Well, it was inevitable it would happen! Arrested for going too slow! But a huge thanks to the two police officers who eventually let me off after several hours in a police cell, without charge, provided I got a move on.                          

The ferry trip across from Hunter's Quay had been rough, with large waves and a strong headwind. And there had been a persistent drizzle. I was grateful to the ferry crew for providing me with free passage. After an hour or so, as the cloud cleared, and the sun came out, everything was transformed into vibrant colour. There were beautiful views across the Firth of Clyde to the Isle of Arran, with its lofty peaks. Yachts with colourful sails moved briskly on the wind.

Once again, I saw oyster catchers, calling loudly, diving and dodging as they chased each other; heard skylarks as they fluttered high into the air, only to dive back into the thick grass; heard the cheeping of yellow-green siskins, as they flitted between trees; saw plovers, running along the shoreline erratically, before stopping briefly to feed; and saw lone herons standing at the edge of streams or pools, tense, poised, and ready to strike out with their dagger like beaks.

                                              

Before I was arrested in Largs, I'd cycled along the promenade, past amusement arcades, shooting galleries, 'Jungle Blades,' and a merry-go-round. I was stopped by a man who'd seen me the previous day cycling along Loch Fyne. In fact, he'd stopped to take my photograph, and expected me to remember him for that. He told me his wife had seen me the previous Saturday, cycling along the West Coast. "Not me," I said, "I didn't start riding until last Sunday. Are you sure it was Saturday?" And he was sure. "He even wore a blue top like you!" I came to the conclusion that there must be two penny farthing riders touring Scotland right now, or that maybe I have an impostor. As to why I wouldn't remember this man, there's another thing you need to know should you now be inspired to purchase a penny farthing, and like me travel from John O'Groats to Land's End. People will take photos and film of you with alarming frequency, even with one hand on the steering wheel. They appear suddenly, as if they have had forewarning of my arrival, as if I was some vintage steam train, and scream out 'smile!' I don't think I have had so many shots taken of me as I have had this week.

I met Martin the whisky cyclist today, as I cycled route 7, the twenty-two mile 'Lochs and Glens' cycle track along this stretch of coastline. He visits festivals, distilleries and shops; and tours the UK, and particularly Scotland, sampling whisky. He has created his own website, with lots of fascinating pictures. Take a look at: http://whiskycyclist.weebly.com/  This evening I am camping in a caravan park in Prestwick, my tent next to a large camper van. I am grateful to Gill and Peter for the soup, bread and cups of tea. Peter has an interesting hobby dressing up as General Eisenhower, getting involved in World War Two battle reenactments, and giving speeches as the great general himself.

Tomorrow I head inland, towards Dumfries. By Tuesday, sadly, I will leave Scotland behind me.