Day 15 - Arran

We didn't move today. In fact, I can hardly walk. The impatient run down Goat Fell really did a number on me. The high impact of running and jumping on hard rocks for hours has left me seized like a lumbering scarecrow. Fortunately, some excellent literature has got me through the last couple of days. I just finished 'Last Exit to Brooklyn' by Hubert Selby Jr. a book given to me by a good friend back in Toronto for my birthday. It's taken me six months to get around to reading it but it just blew my brains out. It would make a great film. I should look into that. I've always dreamed of adapting a book and getting it picked up on a fluke. Dreamer.
We've laid around and eaten the last of our food. I hope my legs are feeling better tomorrow. I was starting to wonder if I'd been bitten or infected by something but that didn't make sense as both legs are equally as tender.
The tranquility of our spot was shattered when a large Scottish family laboured down into the valley like a herd of bison, cranked up the radio and started yelling at their kids. Let them run around I say. If there is one place to let them run around it is here and god forbid they end up like you. Hudson showed concern as the kids threw rocks into the brook and I let him sit proudly on the bank guarding our part of the field. I'd enquired with the site owner about the two small tents adjacent to ours, they'd been left behind and were empty but were functioning nicely as spacers between me and this rowdy bunch. Surely we'd move tomorrow, I don't mind this pace though. It's beautiful and cheap. I feel pretty lucky we found this place.

I think back now to the few people who've broken the ice and talked to me and I must say that the caravaners have been most friendly. On more than one occasion have I stuck my sleepy head out to gauge the morning weather and been immediately greeted with the offer of tea. They're a slightly nosey crowd but I think that is mostly due to boredom and they are an entirely harmless, ever so slightly adventurous crowd. Many other campers are strange and seem to be lost, not to mention cheap and underprepared. I've seen a few groups or couples turn up and seemingly attempt to pitch before disappearing an hour or so later.
   
11pm.
A frog croaks as I drift off and my eyes jump back open, reminded of her alarm clock. The one on her phone. I used to reach over her and put it on snooze, then lay tracing the curve of her waist with my fingertips. She would open those beautiful puffy morning eyes just a crack to recognise me and she would roll over and I'd put my arm around her in the most precious embrace and hold her close hoping the universe would notice. Close enough that as I slowly ran my fingers through the short hair at the back of her neck, her breath would condense on my chest and our legs would entwine like lovers do and our toes would twitch at each other saying hello and I never wanted that moment to end as I pressed snooze over and over. Even if I could prove to her how much I loved her, I'm not sure I could convince her my love is worth that much. She thinks it's fleeting and bares no weight. After everything she is the biggest heartbreak of all. The only one I want.   

Day 14 - Arran (Glen Rosa)

It's already been two nights here and I don't want to leave. Today I feel dehydrated and my legs hurt, so maybe one more night. It's very peaceful here on this flood plain. Hudson seems content surveying the landscape and guarding the toilet block whilst I'm in there. The birds here whistle like people trying to get your attention. I still always turn around in the hope a familiar silhouette has tracked me down and come to ease my withered ghost. I can feel the day to turn back getting closer. As I wrote that last sentence my pen ran out.
I have seen some amazing places and taken some healing time. Still, there is a hole in my heart that will never quite heal, I really need to let her know. Having a life without her in it somehow seems a waste at this point.
The reality of no showers and no bed is starting to grate. My back aches and I feel covered in a layer of grease. Plus, my cash is running out and I'll need what's left to cover my journey into my new life, whatever that may be. I plan to travel to London, perhaps start heading south after I get to Oban. I may eventually fold if I think I can get a cheap enough train ticket. Once in London I'll call in a few offers for a place to stay and try eek out a couple of weeks survival before deciding what to do. Hopefully it all sticks. I'm not sure what I'll do if I find I don't want to stay, I'm left bereft of motivation or ambition in this old country. To leave might not be the answer, but I need to find a comfortable corner somewhere and at least I have a few people in London who've got my back.
The burden of the trailer is a real pig and so are the panniers. I feel like I could fly around this country now otherwise. Hudson is tired of the trailer and I'm fed up of him in it. He's developed a fantastic skill of unwrapping every single separate item of food and stamping it to dust or slowly tipping important bits of gear over the sides somehow. Another fatal flaw of the bike is that I never got a kickstand for it. Trying to coax Hudson back into the trailer while holding up the heavy back end of the bike as the front wheel turns to roll the whole thing on it's side is a farce I no longer wish to be a part of. These last couple of days walking have been a real pleasure and I've had time to reflect on all these things. I would do it better next time, but in the meantime, this has been the most rewarding thing I have ever done alone. It may be one of the most fun times I've ever been a part of, so I'm proud of myself for that.
I can't even stand on my tiptoes today without collapsing in pain so one more day here then an easy 14 miles up to Lochranza for the ferry across to Kintyre.

Day 13 - Tues 28th June - Arran.

To have an eventless day at this point might be quite pleasant. If this journal goes quiet you'll know I'm off somewhere having an inoffensive and pleasant time. Today though, I'll be writing.  
I have found myself on a near vertical rock face gripping shallow handfuls of grass from the occasional tuft in order to stay in one piece. This has gone too far and is truly scary. Hudson stands in safety behind me as we traverse the ridge of Goat Fell. I'm sure he's wondering why I've chosen such a route and he repeatedly demonstrates his physical superiority by galloping down to a less perilous crossing and trotting to me with his tail and tongue wagging. I want to smile at him but I'm just too close to dying, this went wrong so quickly.
The Glen Rosa campsite really has a stunning backdrop and the lack of shower facilities is reflected in the tiny fee. All this appeals to the Yorkshireman in me. The sun is hammering down today so it's on with light clothes and sweet smelling sunblock before we start up the valley. I feel like a gazelle after shedding the weight I've lugged for days and Hudson can't believe what's happening. Good times. In our pace we pass various walking groups, some of them recognise us from the road and joke about the trailer. The jokes are getting old now but of course they are meant in good spirit.   
The footpath leads us up through waist high channels carved in the sandy earth by feet and rain. We continue up to 'The Saddle', a sort of hammock shaped summit hanging between two higher ridges. We're tired as we come over the top but the vista on the other side makes us forget. The valley is huge and lush with greens and falling water and leads right out to sea, it's breathtaking. We take a rest and I clown around desperately trying to get the self timer on my camera working. I prevail and get a picture of us both that makes my yelping laugh echo off the rocks. I give out a few more hoots just to hear the effect of the landscape, it's a loud, clean echo.
Even now, the rocky ridge of Goat Fell is still high above us. The main path leading up quickly turns harsh and demands I scramble on all fours. These large smooth rocks offer no keying for Hudson's claws and the drops either side pose too much of a risk, it's impossible. We break off to some more minor paths lower and to the right but these fade in and out. We're climbing below the ridge halfway along the mountain before I realise they're not footpaths at all, just rabbit runs. Scrambling along the grass sideways I realise if it were to rain we'd slip down easily. The adrenaline brought on by the drop already has me shaking and I try to will these visions of doom from my head by singing Smiths songs in a tone deaf child kind of way. Our route is routinely interrupted by huge impassable slabs of rock and we have to descend in order to get around them. When we had totally run out of options I started climbing straight up the grass like a ladder. Hudson was valiant. He would follow me anywhere, I'm so proud of him today.

Needless to say, we eventually made it to the summit. I felt like I should've been defiantly sticking a flag in the bastard so I couldn't say I was too happy to see groups of school children up there. We clearly hadn't taken the easiest route. It's becoming a weary motif, but again the journey had been worth the view. This was simply arresting. The whole south side of the island was visible and we were stood at the highest point of what looked like a pinched patchwork quilt from up here. Many of the peaks surrounding us were populated by precariously placed groups of rocks and boulders that were much larger than the ridges they rested on. I had grossly underestimated our walk today, we hadn't eaten and were out of water. I weighed up the different routes for a swift escape and ran all the way down. I had a feeling this was stupid but didn't care and as we eventually limped back to camp I knew sleep wasn't far away.

Day 12 - Arran.

Up at 8:30, no-one bothered us in the night and the morning is clear enough that you can see the whole of this bay. It's gorgeous here. We slept with our heads just a few metres from hole eleven of the Brodick golf course.
I'm at the Arran brewery now sampling the local brews, typical safe British ales, perfectly good but nothing too exciting. My three years drinking microbrewed west coast style IPA's in Ontario has spoiled me. The girl at the outdoors shop opposite told me about a campsite in a valley next to Glen Rosa,
"If you don't mind roughing it?"
Which of course we don't. We can get up to the highest peak, Goat Fell from there and I'm thinking Hudson is due a good long walk.
The road to Glen Rosa is called the 'cart track', as we roll down the road I manage to spoil someone's photo opportunity with a drive by thumbs up in the background. I count to ten as they review their picture then hear them laughing. The valley has a flood plane in it's base that is cracked in half with a bolt of fresh water feeding down from the hills. I pitch next to the water and shiver at the utter tranquility of this spot. I hoist my dirty laundry over to the water and wade in with a bin bag and a bar of soap to clean it all. Whilst my back was turned, Hudson has rolled in enough sheep shit to turn his white spots brown so he gets wrestled in for a dunking too. Then I chase him around on the grass to make friends and dry off.
I lay all my clothes out to dry, crack the bottle of Arran 'Sunset ale' I picked up at the brewery and read until my book is finished. The forecast is good for tomorrow when we'll tackle Goat Fell.

Day 11 - Ayr - Arran.

 Pistons! I thought and opened my eyes to be faced by only the grey tarp I was sleeping under. The thunderous roar of a massive diesel engine was approaching fast as I struggled like a paratrooper trying to separate from his parachute. By the time I'd broken my head free the large tractor that was raking the beach was raging past us at sphincter twitching proximity. I had no idea such machines existed. Hudson, lets get the hell out of this town, even the beach is trying to kill us.
Today is an easy twenty mile push and I keep my head down as we pass by miserable Troon and on to the shithole Androssan. It was really lucky we hadn't had to spend the night here, we'd have been robbed or eaten by rats.
I've committed to traveling to Kintyre today by buying the 'Hop-scotch' ferry ticket instead of a return to Arran. The ticket was only ten pounds and the trip took fifty five minutes. I slept on a couch in the lounge with all the other dog owners. The room smelled like a cinema and our dogs just eyed each other for an hour waiting for the chance to pounce
We've arrived in Arran. It's a misty day but still really pretty. We came across the brewery but it's closed so I pushed us over to the beach and laboured to pitch the tent using heavy rocks in place of pegs. It's an idyllic little spot here on the sand. Ten minutes ago a man walked past swearing to himself and I've just observed him furiously driving golf balls into the ocean.
Funny day.