Lakes of fire
My feet sink into the bog. The thick, brown mud slowly swallows them as we stop to watch the sun rise from behind a wall of sheer rock with a razor-sharp ridge. With the sun comes a welcome warmth and momentary respite from the slow trudge across the open moor. It’s not that we’ve lost the trail. There wasn’t one to begin with.
Quite where we’re heading at this moment I don’t know. We are simply following the little arrows on my bike computer telling us this is the route, despite both of us feeling a rising sense of doubt. With no obvious alternative we have little choice but to keep moving forward in the hope that sooner or later we will return to a trail that is rideable.
We can’t say we weren’t warned either. My research into today’s route included several blogs, each of which cautioned that no gravel ride in the Lakes is complete without the mandatory sections that are simply not fit for bikes. We expected a bit of walking, but this is turning into a serious hike.
As I contemplate my sodden feet, my mind wanders back to the words I read which
