Mud, Sweat and Gears by Ellie Bennett

Author:Ellie Bennett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Summersdale Publishers Ltd
Published: 2011-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

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Stats

Miles: 77

Total miles: 720

Pints of beer (each): 3 (bought 4 but fell asleep)

Cereal bars pilfered: 4

Moments of shame: 1

Day

16

TROON

TO

LOCHRANZA

A tourist goes into a butcher’s shop in Troon. The butcher is stood with his back to an electric fire. The tourist says: ‘Is that your Ayrshire bacon?’And the butcher says: ‘No, just warming my hands.’

After a late and copious breakfast, as one would expect in a hotel of this calibre, we set off from Troon, leaving not quite enough time to cycle around the coast to Ardrossan in time for the ferry to Arran. (Most End-to-Enders don’t find themselves on the ferry to Arran. It is not exactly the most direct route; a dash though Glasgow or an east-coast route through Edinburgh is quicker. But we (I!), had decided it would be such a shame to miss out the beautiful west coast of Scotland and so we planned to travel up though Arran before catching another ferry back to the mainland and on to Oban and Fort William. We had estimated 10 miles, but in fact it was nearly twenty and the wind was gusting in our faces. Unusually, Mick was lagging behind. In an effort to encourage him I gave him a chivvy up.

‘Come on you low-gear, low-mileage, low-effort, lowlife,’ I shouted.

It had the desired effect, as he cycled hard to catch me up (probably to beat me up) but I stayed ahead all the way to Ardrossan. As we turned the corner to head down to the harbour, a tornado-like vortex of wind whirled its way up the street, scooping up discarded newspapers and sweet wrappers, and twirling them in the air like a mad flamenco dancer. I am not at all surprised that Ardrossan has a large wind farm at the back of the town; it probably generates enough power to light up all of Ayrshire.

The harbour area has been transformed since the last time I was here ten years ago. Then the area was semi-derelict, with pubs and shops boarded up, and it had the feel of a place that had abandoned all hope. Now there was a brand new marina and ferry terminal, and many of the dockside buildings had evidently been restored and were being put to new uses; the elegant power station was now a fancy Italian restaurant. We couldn’t stop, though; the ferry was in port and we swiftly boarded and took shelter from the wind below deck. Soon we were heading away from the town and across to Brodick. The one-hour ferry trip was very enjoyable, mainly as Arran traders were inviting passengers to sample local produce. Naturally, we availed ourselves of these offerings, merrily tucking into Arran mustard Cheddar sliced onto Arran oatcakes, washed down with Arran malt whisky. We then wandered into the shop and bought an Arran map, a bar of Arran soap and some Arran chocolate. Mick disappeared, so I read the Arran paper for a while and then did the Arran crossword. If we had been on board for much longer, I’d have bought the sodding island.

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