Anyway, taking it easy today, the heat is a bit too much. I made breakfast, some noodles and sandwiches for later. The days really are never straight forward. I just entered Scotland at Gretna. There is a house there marked 'First/Last house in Scotland. Marriage room Est 1830 over 100,000 weddings here'. I'd heard the story that young English couples would run away to Gretna and get married as the legal age for marriage was lower here.
Entering Gretna I was already feeling weak, another short day and as the strength drained from my legs I pulled into a caravan site. "We don't do tents, you'll need to go to Annan it's only nine miles". I smiled but my heart sank. Nine miles is of course very little, but on a day where you're already feeling spent after doing twenty all day, it's a fair chunk. We connected with the NCN7 route as it meandered and humped us down country lanes and through puddles of raw eColi. I was noticing things. The thickly painted road markings on rough asphalt. The cracked paving flags. The teams of kids in football strips. The beer in the petrol station. It would still take me some time for this to feel like home again but I saw all these things as good. Only the small heavy black stone was left, rattling around in the bottom of my chest. An uncontrollable discomfort honouring those few soles i sorely missed and the love I had lost by leaving. I had a knowing feeling that this stone would always be there and I would have tolearn to live with it's presence but also that it was good that i would never forget those people and I would never forget that girl.
With some help from my phones GPS I found the campsite in Annan. I needn't have bothered it was directly on the NCN route. It was a small field next to the football ground with only room for fifteen pitches or so and again, mostly caravans or campervans. There was only one other two-man tent with a touring bicycle parked up next to it.
I looked around the heavily postered shed that was acting as reception and picked up a local map of Annan. No-one was here. Back outside was posted the wardens phone number and as i searched out my phone a man left the toilet block, I nodded and smiled.
"Hi!"
he said in a familiar tone and waving a finger like Colombo putting the pieces together.
"I saw you in Gretna" he continued almost correcting himself in fear of sounding weird.
"I remember that...." searching for the words
"The dog".
He seemed friendly and roadweary aswe began to talk. He was Paul from Munich, a fifty year old looking a slim thirty five. I told him I was going to find a pub later and he described a large place with lights and food he had to go to first.
"Tesco" I said, he nodded.
The warden arrived about an hour later to collect nine pounds (three pounds too much in my opinion). She was a lovely older Scottish lady and her accent rang of the ears with an indescribably pleasantness and generosity. She showed interest in the dog as about half the people I talk to do and I gave her my well rehearsed spiel.
He's eight. He's an Australian cattle dog. Or a Blue Heeler, same thing. We've just flown back from Canada together. He loves it here. He doesn't really like the trailer that much, so he's glad we've arrived. I took a breath and she smiled as I knewshe would and tentatively put out a hand for him to smell. He turned the other way, he usually does unless you have food.
I enquired about a pub and she pointed me to The Blue Bell.
"Follow the river down with him (The dog), you'll get a good pint in there aye, and he's allowed too".
I set up camp as Hudson watched, ears pricked in curiosity of my routine. He would stand on whatever thing it was I needed to move next and tap dance on the spot confused when I told him to move.
Paul returned from his land of milk and honey and we took the walk down the river where I bored him with obscure elements of his own countries film and musical heritage. He'd never heard of Neu! or Cluster but he knew Kraftwerk and had seen Fitzcarraldo. He said he hadn't heard from Werner Herzog in years. I told him he'd had three films out last year, one of them starring Nicolas Cage. He seemed distinctly unimpressed. When we arrived at the bar he insisted on buying my pint. I really liked Paul and I liked how we had found each other on the road. We discussed routes and had made the same plan of a route through Ayr, Arran and up to Inverness then John O groats. I knew my Inverness leg of the trip was looking less likely every day but we both shared an enthusiasm for the isle of Arran. We'd heard, read and seen good things.
At The Blue Bell the pub quiz was in full swing, it wasthe kind of place where London was talked about like it is a far away exotic destination and the internet as though it is some mythical beast they heard of through a friend of a friend. We stepped back to the beer garden where Hudson entertained us by kicking off with every other dog he saw. Paul claimed that the key to looking young was exercise. I had a feeling that it was more a culmination of small lifestyle choices. I drank two pints of Deuchars IPA while he had two halves, stuff like that. I told him I could spend all night in that pub, that I enjoyed the banter. He said well he had to sleep in his tent. I told Paul some of my theories and observations. I told him that when I saw touring motorcycles I thought that they were missing everything but that walkers probably said the same thing of us cyclists. He said he had seen many walkers. I really liked Paul, he was a proper tourer but it was time for bed.
