Beauty and the Beast
As I swing right, away from the loch, I feel a bit like Alice dropping down the rabbit hole to emerge in a strange alternate universe
The sound of rain beating a solemn rhythm on the motorhome roof greets me as I wake. I’m reluctant to leave the warmth of my bed but I know I have little choice in the matter. It’s only Day Three of my journey from one end of Britain to the other, but already my legs are aching from 363km of riding that have taken me from John O’Groats, across the top of Scotland and down the west coast to the small fishing village of Aultbea on the shore of Loch Ewe.
Despite it being July, the morning is chilly and rain has been my constant companion for two days. To compound my misery the road immediately begins snaking upwards, giving my legs no chance to warm up properly. I scold myself for such an oversight in my planning but
