From memory, there were two NCN routes from Annan to Ayr. I remember at one point I really just wanted to do the most scenic route but my ideals were beginning to waver now camping and packing in the wet was becoming a thorn in my side. I cursed myself for not investing more in expensive gear but then remembered how the pole on Pauls super lightweight tent had snapped yesterday and was subsequently held together with zip ties and I quickly recounted myself as lucky.
I think I first saw a sign for the 'Scenic route to Ayr' in Gretna and then I definitely saw one leaving Annan today only worded slightly differently as the 'Tourist route to Ayr', just semantics I thought. I'd decided I would take this route but now I'm starting to think that the scenic and the tourist route are two different routes. I think I've been on this route for about fifeen miles now and though it's not ugly, it's not particularly scenic. It just seems to be riddled with tourist obstacles and I'm getting that cynical feeling I get when told to 'exit through the gift shop'. There are some strange dedications here, I've seen a 'Savings banks museum', I bet they stay open by selling ice cream or something. Anyway, time will tell whether it is a scenic route or not. I think it will be more so as I get further around the west coast and at least it's not too hilly here. By 10am it's raining so heavily that we're forced off the road in a place called Cummertrees. I'm sat in a bus shelter right now writing, it doesn't smell of piss, that's a first.
I've come to believe that if they ever did exist, all the beautiful girls have been exported from Scotland and only the deathly malnourished ones remain. It's not that they're underfed, in fact none of them are. They're all at least slightly overweight and many of them appear to be completely orange on the surface and that accrid smell of powdered make-up mixed with the marshmallow sweetnes of cheap perfume and hairspray hangs in the air long after they've shuffled away. There are a lot of tracksuits and trainers that will never see their owner break a sweat. I was thinking the same back in Newcastle but I was still buzzing with residual optimism at the time and at least people smiled there. The sour faced sows around here wouldn't unscrew their faces for a small child, nevermind some bedraggled looking pikey walking his dog around with a length of old washing line.
We're rained off again and stood on a petrol station forecourt about two miles from Dumfries. I think we'll have done fifteen miles this morning by the time we pass through Dumfries and I'll make sure to do at least double that today. I think that thirty miles a day has to be our absolute minimum and that's accounting for bad roads and bad weather. Anything less is just treading water and really on a good day I'd like to see us do at least fifty miles.
Hudson is coming to an understanding with the trailer. He's finally started lying down in it for long distances and yesterday he jumped back into it on command for the first time, I usually have to lift him.
The objects in our inventory are slowly changing their uses and definitions, expanding their purposes. A tarpaulin is a picnic blanket on wet ground. A towel is also a pillow. A jacket with pockets is as good as a bag when it's strapped to the outside of your panniers.
Hudson always prefers my sleeping bag to his large cushion bed. He is an incessant wriggler, always standing in the wrong place with no sense of purpose and no concept that he might be in the way. Reach over and push him with your hand and he'll just lie down in resignation. 'Surely I can't be in the way now dad?'.
We passed an Aldi supermarket and I couldn't resist the chance to pick up cheap supplies. It turned out to be good timing, as we pulled in the clouds burst into a torrential downpour, the worst we've seen yet. The car park was immediately under an inch of water.
I've taken to sitting down in Hudson's trailer on our road breaks. I think it makes him jealous and want to get back in.
I do like the accent here. It's not rough or abrasive like the stereotypical Glaswegian accent is meant to be but the people do look a little weathered. All slack jawed and sunken eyed with ankles melting over their feet and hair that is either drowned in cheap hair gel or bleached and sprayed to a candy floss finish. I just don't get it, I feel like such a snob, but please, just sit down and have an apple or something.
Today has been a rough weather day. I got about two miles from the supermarket when the rain returned with a vengeance. We sheltered in a stone arched tunnel and I sat down in Hudsons trailer, cooked noodles on my stove and drank a bottle of red IPA I'd just bought. I looked like a really sophisticated homeless person.
We made a break for Castle Douglas on the NCN7, fifteen miles according to the signage. The terrain was beautiful but the climbs were long and hard for us. The weather varied from rain to heavy rain and back again every fifteen minutes. This hard toil up hills in the rain was not what I had dreamt of when touring but the views today were quite spectacular regardless of the weather and the long descents were the most vibrant and dramatic yet. I almostly felt guilty coasting for probably a mile but I had certainly earned it and if I hadn't yet, I would soon. We continued to climb and dip through various tiny villages and the rain stopped for twenty minutes letting us blow dry a little be when we picked up speed. Not long after Castle Douglas had seemed like a twenty minute ride away again the rain came, badly. We had to take shelter and found a glass bus stop in somewhere caled Hardgate, fuck knows. Phone battery dead, camera dead. Need to find a campsite fast.
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