I'm lagging behind a bit, so apologies about that, but the important thing is that I'm here now and that 'here' is Leadhills and Wanlockhead Railway in South Lanarkshire (a little south of Glasgow). I arrived on Monday afternoon after an 80km ride from Gretna Green, which was hard work with lots of uphill. I did 45km of the ride at increased resistance, mostly at gear 10 (four gears higher than my usual), but 5km of it at gear 11. It was particularly hard work as I'd had very little sleep the night before, but I did it, and I did it in two hours and forty four minutes.
It wasn't until I got here that I discovered that Leadhills is the second highest village in Scotland at 395m above sea level. The highest is Wanlockhead, just next door. The adhesion railway (a railway that relies on friction between a steel wheel and a steel rail) that runs between the two villages is the highest narrow gauge railway in Britain!
If only I'd known of all the uphill before I planned my route...but then I guess I'm not going to be able to get through the Highlands without some significant uphill rides.
For all that it is really hard work cycling up here, it is spectacularly beautiful with the villages nestled in amongst the mountains, and bubbling streams scoring their way down the hillsides...
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| Leadhills in the mist |
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| Cottages at Leadhills |
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| River in the Lowther Hills by Leadhills |
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| Leadhills Village |
I had planned on staying at the Hopetoun Arms pub and hotel, 'the highest residential hotel in Scotland,' but I was so taken by the beautiful scenery that I decided to pitch my tent so I could be right in the middle of it. Because my planned ride was to the railway then I set up camp there, rather than in the middle of the village or right next to the Hopetoun Arms, and I gave my little camp the same set-up as always to give it that homely feeling...
After the tragedy at Gretna Green I have been vary wary of the Blanket-Making Wild Haggis, so I've discarded any remnants of tartan from my tent and other belongings for fear of attracting trouble, but I'm now also a little fearful of all haggis. I have been assured that the Blanket-Making Wild Haggis doesn't roam in these parts, and that they're a lowland species, but I don't want to take any risks. I've been told that only friendly haggi (the plural of 'haggis') roam the Lowther Hills and I'm to look out for the friendly, semi-aquatic, Duck-Billed Haggis, especially as it's breeding season at the moment. It seems that the best thing for attracting most haggis to a location is to spread black pepper corns, or to put some in a haggis trap, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to be surrounded by haggis after my experience at Gretna Green.
Anyway, haggis aside, when I was planning my stop at Leadhills and Wanlockhead Railway I wondered if I might see Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends, as it seemed to me the kind of place they'd love to hang out...
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| Henry, James, Percy, and Thomas |
See? A perfect match, don't you think?
Alas, I didn't see Henry, James, Percy, or Thomas, but I'm sure I saw their relatives...
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| Charlotte |
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| Clayton |
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| Clyde |
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| Decauville |
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| Elvan |
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| Jack |
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| Little Clyde |
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| Luce |
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| Mennock |
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| Nith |
They're definitely related, but I feel sorry for Little Clyde having to live in the nominative shadow of Clyde. Why couldn't he have been given a name of his own? I wouldn't be surprised if he gets rebellious in protest later in life and perhaps goes off the rails. Poor little mite.
After cycling to the railway, I thought it might be a little noisy if I set up my camp right next to the station...
...With the locomotives coming and going...
So I pitched my tent just a little way up the hill where I could watch the trains pass from a distance, still hear the little clickety-clack clickety-clack of the wheels on the track and their tooo-hooo whistle as they approach the station. I love watching them from here...
I'd gone for a little wander after pitching camp, as I usually do to get a feel for the area, and I met a woman who I don't think can be from the area or really have much clue how railways and catching trains work. She'd been waiting for a train for quite some time, but hadn't thought to wait at the station. For some reason she thought she could just hail the train like a cab, and never got the hint that almost no train operators work like that. She'd clearly been waiting a long time...
Of course, she wasn't very talkative, and it wasn't actually her who'd told me the story of her long wait. Just down from the little bridge she's perched on is a beck, and while I was wondering what to do about this skeleton on the bridge (because I felt as though someone ought to do something), a little voice called up for me not to worry, 'She's one of the locals now. Been here a wee while. Never did nab the train to Wanlockhead like she wanted.'
At first I couldn't see where the voice was coming from. It didn't sound like a child's phraseology, but it wasn't exactly an adult's timbre either. I peered over Thin Lizzy's shoulder, but couldn't see who might own the voice, only for the voice to say, 'I'm over here, by the brook...not that way, here, in the grass.' That's when I saw him...
...a very large, male, Duck-Billed Haggis. I leapt back in surprise. After all, nobody had told me that the Duck-Billed Haggis spoke English, only that they are friendly, but still, I was nervous after my experience of the Blanket-Making Wild Haggis.
'There's nay reason to be scared, Lass. I'm nay ginna harm ya. I'm just looking fa some fish fa ma wee uns. Oh, and ma name's Donald.'
I considered his stocky build and bumbling movement, very different from the leaner and speedy Blanket-Making Wild Haggis, and decided I probably was safe, and the folk of Leadhills hadn't been lying to me about the Duck-Billed Haggis' placid nature. I do rather wish they'd told me about the English speaking thing though. So having come to the conclusion that I was most likely safe, I scrambled down the bank and Donald proceeded to tell me all about Thin Lizzy. It turns out that Duck-Billed Haggi can live to be over four hundred years old, and that Donald himself was already 236! He told me that Thin Lizzy had turned up when he was a wee boy, almost a hundred years before the line was even opened. She wasn't the brightest spark and apparently didn't fancy the walk to Wanlockhead - a whole two miles - so as soon as she heard of the invention of the train she came to Leadhills in anticipation of a mainline to Wanlockhead, where she wanted to go 'to see the sights of the highest village in Scotland.' So Thin Lizzy has been waiting for a train that never came for 214 years because she was too lazy to walk two miles. Donald said that the good folk of Leadhills kept her well fed, and were always trying to encourage her either to walk the short distance or to give up waiting and come inside, but she was having none of it, declaring she'd get on that train if it was the last thing she ever did. It turns out it was the last thing she never did, except every so often someone will now take her on a carriage ride to fulfil her destiny and involve her memory in the community.
By now I'd sat down in the grass, engrossed by the story, and I'd come to really rather like Donald. The locals were right - these haggis are friendly - and Donald was shocked and saddened to hear my story of Scott and Hamish and the fear that the Blanket-Making Wild Haggis had instilled in me. He quite understood and told me that 'their sort' are the kind that give all haggis a bad reputation, but it's only them and the Sabre-Toothed Haggis that need be feared. I hadn't heard of the Sabre-Toothed Haggis, because I actually know very little about the animals, only that haggis in general is a national dish in Scotland (which I deliberately didn't bring up with Donald). I wasn't liking the sound of the Sabre-Toothed Haggis and I must have started to look around nervously because Donald quickly chipped in that they're definitely not found in these parts. Apparently they will occasionally be found in the upper Highlands, but mostly they're confined to the Scottish islands. I'm still worried about encountering them during the rest of my epic trip, but Donald advised that, while I might see them, they're only really a danger to small dogs and the Highland Haggis, and that the Highland Haggis is as docile as they come.
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| Sabre-Toothed Haggis |
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| Highland Haggis |
Well, just as he was telling me all this there was a shrill squawk and Donald jumped eight feet in the air. I thought maybe we were about to be attacked by some other strange Scottish creature, but it when I turned towards the direction of the squawk I saw this...
Donald's wife, Della, with the children, Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Daisy, and Della wasn't too pleased that Donald hadn't gone home with any fish for the children, or in fact hadn't returned home at all. She'd been worried sick about him and had had no option but to bring the hagglets out on her search. The squawk had been her warning call of anger at him for having found him chatting away blythley to yet another tourist. Donald let Della speak, nodded in all the right places, blushed appropriately (did you know that a Duck-Billed Haggis' fur goes bright red when the animal blushes?), and uttered deep regret and apology. I thought he was about to undo all the hard work of this response when he began telling Della about Scott's and Hamish's tragic endings, but Della was as horrified as Donald had been and said that in that case it was important that Donald had set me right about the mentality of most haggis, and by way of apology for the whole haggis community for the tragedy that had incurred she wanted to give me a brand new haggis-fur-filled mattress for a new four poster camp bed, and she'd implement the Haggis Army to protect me from any other Blanket-Making Wild Haggis or any rogue Sabre-Toothed Haggis that might be along the rest of my route to John O'Groats. I tried to say that my current mattress and bed are perfectly comfortable, but she was quite insistent and said that the drapes of the new bed would be impregnated with haggis-repellent specifically targeted at the B-M W Haggis and the S-T Haggis for added protection. I wondered if the repellent would have any negative effect on the Haggis Army members, but she assured me not. So here's my fancy new camp bed and mattress...
I have to say that I feel so much safer now, and I am deeply grateful to Della, Donald, and the Haggis Army for ensuring my safety from dangerous haggi from here on. Della assures me that they will be discreet and, if they do their job properly, I will never see any of the Haggis Army unless I call them. I think she meant call out to them rather than phone them up.
Della, Donald, Daisy, Huey, Dewey, and Louie had been walking me back to my tent together, but Della had whispered something to the hagglets when we were half way back and they'd run off excitedly up the hillside. We'd only been back at the tent a few minutes when the hagglets came running in, carefully carrying a tray of freshly baked shortbread that smelled truly delicious.
Della said that the children had made it that afternoon, and they'd been going to make millionaire's shortbread too when she'd realised the time and was worried about Donald, so instead of making the millionaire's shortbread they'd come on their hunt for him. But seeing as we were all now hungry, it seemed perfect that they share the shortbread they had been able to make. Of course, I shared what food I had left too, and we ended up having quite a feast...
I had such a lovely time with Donald, Della, and all the family, and we've spent a lot of my time here together. They've shown me the whole area and told me a lot about the history of the place.
I was wanting to share with you all that I've learnt - how Leadhills has the oldest subscription library in Britain, that Wanlockheads has the second oldest; how Leadhills got it's name from the Lead that used to be mined here; that the area is still rich with minerals and Lanarkshire has even given its name to one of those minerals, Lanarkite; that the history of the mines and the history of the libraries are intertwined, and that the old miners' library is now a museum that tourists can visit. But unfortunately I don't seem to have time for any of that now, having told you about Donald and Della and the hagglets instead. I couldn't have not told you about them, though, so I hope you will forgive me for prioritising what I did.
I have to say that I am loving my new bed. It is so comfortable, and the haggis-fur-filled mattress is amazingly warm, but I guess that's to be expected from an animal that lives in the wilds of Scotland.
Tomorrow I move on to Queensferry, Edinburgh, so I'll update you on how that trip goes when I get back to you over the weekend. In the meantime, thank you for your support on my epic journey from Land's End to John O'Groats and if you'd like to sponsor me for my ride then you can still do so at my Just Giving page. As ever, every penny is hugely appreciated by me and all at Pop-Up Gym, for which I am fundraising, a place where folk recovering from spinal injuries or with other neurological conditions can come to exercise with specially adapted equipment. The only place like it in the north of England.
**All photos, except those of my tent and of the MotoMed, are taken from Google Images
