I stood the bike up resting the pedal against the pavement, and to be extra secure connected the brake brand around the brake lever. Turning away to walk back to the house, a puff of wind caught the bike and it fell over, grazing the carbon fibre mudguards. I was still waiting for my new Click Stand to turn up from the states. It must be languishing in customs somewhere. Perhaps the bike would be safer against the fence. I loaded it up with two rear panniers, then the tent, sleeping bag and mat on top of the rack. I still had some space in the panniers so there was no need for the front panniers or bag.
I have only ridden the bike twice this year, each ride was 8 miles with a stop of an hour halfway along, a place where I can use the free wifi to get my email. My tour was 18 miles each way, taking me from home in Voe to the Braewick campsite at Eshaness. For a man as old (55) and overweight (30lbs) as me I would describe the route as hilly and the worst of the hills are near the end. The good news is that the wind was mostly behind me and at 13mph, quite a respectable speed, although yesterday it had been 26mph, but I had not started the tour then as it was a driech day. I had taken a detour into Hillswick to visit the GP practice and the shop, but the surgery weren't hooked up to what I had assumed was a Shetland-wide wifi system for the council and the NHS, so I couldn't send an important email.
The last couple of miles saw a couple of dogs come running out of their drive onto the road, the larger one warning me that was his territory, reinforcing it with barking, teeth and spit. A shame that I didn't have my Dazer on me, but I hadn't expected this. A hundred yards or so up the rode and the attack dogs decide to leave me alone.
The hills are too long for me!
The Braewick Caravan Park to give it its full name has a highlight, and that is the cafe. By the time you have got here you will need a cup of tea and something to eat. The hours are 10-5 but closed on Tuesday and Wednesday. Although the staff close up at 4pm if there is no-one booked in. As I have arrived on a Monday I will have to take on the hills back to Hillswick to get something to eat on Tuesday and Wednesday. I brought little in the way of food, foolishly. Arriving at 3:15 at the start of the season the chef came to see me to tell me that I wouldn't be able to have my smoked salmon salad that I had ordered. In fact they had sold out of everything, but they could offer me fish and chips from the freezer, so that was my choice along with a couple of pots of tea. I have difficulty swallowing starchy food, so did not do the plateful real justice.
Workshops
The campsite has 4 wooden wigwams, hookup points for caravans and plenty of grass to pitch tents. The view, like most in Shetland is marvellous, as long as you don't look to the right at the mass of farm buildings from which emanated a banging sound, that made by someone with a large hammer, trying to make something metal fit. It didn't go on for long, and having parked on the windward, ocean side of the cafe, the minimal road noise was not too bad.
Interesting geology up here - geologists tell me it's a gneiss place to be!
I used the wind to my advantage to put the MSR hubba hubba tent up. With such a stupid name they should have to sell them at a discount!
More geology
Day 2 - after a night of trips to the bathroom I laid in my bag for as long as I could, listening to the rain dripping on the tent. By 11am I knew that i would have to face the day, so after abluting I sat down to a Ma Baker giant bar cranberry. Apparently a delicious oat bar made with rolled oats and cranberries. I had eaten the apricot version last night and it tasted more like I assume wood pulp would taste if I ever got around to eating it. I would like to say that the cranberry version was heavenly, but telling such a lie would preclude my entrance to that mythical place. I managed to eat half of it, but then thought that I ought to move on to something more palatable. One of the half dozen Braeburn apples was consumed.
Table and seats
I have not quite moved into the 19th century with my phone, still using the non-smart variety. I had brought my phone with me as well as my iPad and my PowerGorilla for charging purposes. I was reminded that the PowerGorilla doesn't like charging low current devices. It just won't charge my phone, which had spent its time trying to find a cell all evening with on/off success. I had a SpiderMonkey hub to charge more than one item through simultaneously. If only I had remembered to bring the lightning cable for my iPad I could have plugged both phone and iPad in and fool the charger into getting some power into the phone.
The wind had veered around to a northerly overnight, and with the rain tapping on the tent I thought that I ought to get properly dressed up for the weather and the ride to Hillswick a couple of miles away. I slid my legs into the waterproofs, label around the back, all clothes follow that rule don't they, apparently not. I realised that I had the waterproofs on back to front. Never mind, get out of them, swivel them around 180 degrees and put them back on. Get into the waterproof jacket and hat. Get the feet into the sanctum between the inner and outer tent and slide into the boots, get the gloves on. Unlock the bike, put the pannier on. Rain stops. No point getting out of the waterproofs, it's bound to start raining again.
I ride out of the campsite. There's just me enjoying the peace and quiet, well as much as a tent rustling in the wind, with rain previously tap, tap, tapping on it allows. I struggle up the first hill, but do it in one go, whizz down the other side, as much as the sidewind permits, struggle up the next and eventually ride past a field ringed with an electric fence all to protect the lone gander within.
The pub soon appears on my right. I arrive hot and sweaty. The St Magnus Hotel looks a bit ragged. The weather has taken its toll, and this is after it has been renovated. The place has a mixture of customers, those working in the area, a young family, old folks out for their lunch faffing over the height of the tables and whether they will be able to eat at them, then being found somewhere else to sit. I raise my eyebrows and think how lucky we are in the first world to whinge incessantly about trivialities. I order a cider and a bowl of soup, the latter is served eventually with a roll. The former is tomato and vegetable and is very reasonable. I get the wi-fi password and logon to clear the backlog of personal emails and to see if there are any interesting ones from work - no, the usual warnings of generator tests and courses that I don't want to attend. I order a jacket spud with beans and sausages. The starchy spud will be helped down by the beans, sausages and butter provided. It will also gets some carbs into me for the ride back. The meal comes with salad. There must be a glut of red onion as half the sald is red onion. I ignore the salad. The rest goes down a treat. The tea arrives in a big pot with a plate of biscuits - cool, I love biscuits and leave not a crumb behind. After a brief Skype to my other half I leave for the shop, stock up on dinner, breakfast bars and betteries for the radio
I head off back to the campsite, daydreaming as the roads here are very quiet, suddenly I spot to my right the attack goose. It has escaped the field, the one with the electric fence, and is coming at me full tilt, hissing like a maniac. Having spent my formative years in a city, and having avoided much of the animal world up to now I have know idea how deadly these beasts are. OK, it isn't carrying a gun, and its mouth doesn't open very wide, and I can't see any teeth, but perhaps it could break my leg with its wing. Who knows? I have no plans to loiter about here anymore, and sprint away like an elderly athlete. I am either fitter than the goose or it has decided that I am no threat, and after a brief chase it gives up and goes back to waiting for the next person to intimidate. Or perhaps it knew that a few weeks ago a colleague gave me a goose egg to try? Perhaps the trace of goose egg omelette is still evident on me? Perhaps I am now a marked man when it comes to the goose community?
I ride back past the attack dogs home. Still no sign of them. Perhaps they are busily consuming a cyclist behind the building?
I struggle back into the wind. Occasionally the road swings and hills rise to the side of me and my ride becomes relatively sheltered. The hills remain hideous though and I find myself stopping more and more. As I climb the last hill to the campste a people carrier passes me with three childrens bikes on me. I fear that the quiet has just come to an end. The parents unload the car into one of the wigwams, whilst the kids ride their bikes around the car park. One kid shouts that his f***ing scooter is broken whilst another one just screams. I get into my sleeping bag and amongst the screams manage to drop off for an hour.
I wake up and they are still shouting across the car park at each other and I realise why my favourite children are barbecued. Eventually I take my microwave meal to the laundry, heat it up and consume it. At least in the building it is quiet. I can see why there are adult only campsites, sadly none in Shetland though.
The wind howls through the night and there is occasional rain. The tent rustles until 3am when I fall asleep. I wake at 10am. The kids are runniing about being quiet, but I have had enough so eat my breakfast pack up and ride back. It's only 18 miles, but the trip takes me 3 hours. The same as to get there. I pass a couple of touring cyclists heading towards Eshaness. One is off her bike pushing it. I had at least managed to ride the whole way, if very slowly. After 7 miles the sun comes out. Within a mile of home the rain starts again.
