Leadhills and Wanlockhead Railway to Forth Road Bridge, Queensferry

Well what an exciting weekend it's been, what with Harry and Meghan's wedding, the summery sunshine, and most importantly my arrival at the Forth Road Bridge, Queensferry, on the edge of Edinburgh.  This is particularly exciting because it's where my parents live so I've been able to catch up with them for a quick virtual cuppa while I've been here.  Perfect.

Now then, I realise that not all of my readers are from the UK and may not know that the Forth Road Bridge is not so called because it is the forth bridge carrying road traffic over the river.  There are actually only three bridges at this point between Edinburgh and Fife, and the Forth Road Bridge was, I think, the second bridge over the river at the Firth of Forth.  The 'firth' bit of this name is actually Scots for 'estuary', and the 'forth' is the name of the river.  The first bridge was the Forth Bridge, which is a rail bridge, and the third bridge was the most recently opened (in 2017) Queensferry Crossing.  It's all terribly confusing.  Here are the three of them...

...working from left to right they are, the Forth Bridge, the Forth Road Bridge, and the Queensferry Crossing.  I have come to the Forth Road Bridge, and am at the Edinburgh side of it, which is on the upper left of the picture.  Queensferry is the area/suburb you can see in that upper left part of the photo, and here's what it looks like at street level...

...and at water level...

I arrived on Friday afternoon at around 3.30pm after cycling for two hours and forty-three minutes from Leadhills and Wanlockhead Railway, covering 84km.  There was a lot of uphill so I did 40km at gear 10 and 5km at gear 11, so four and five gears of increased resistance from my usual.  It was tough, but there was lots of good support from the folk in Pop-Up Gym, and of course lining the streets as I cycled...

Here's the proof that I covered the distance, just in case you don't believe that's me in the photo above, though why you wouldn't is beyond me.

During the planning of my ride I rightly thought that it would be pretty difficult to find somewhere suitable to pitch my tent so I booked in to the Hawes Inn...

It's a beautiful and very old pub in which Robert Louis Stevenson stayed and actually wrote some of his famous novel, 'Kidnapped,' and the book also has a passage in which the Hawes Inn features.  As a writer, how could I not stay in a place with such literary associations?

The problem with my plan was that my ride took me to the top of the Forth Road Bridge, not underneath the Forth Bridge.  I really didn't want to have to cycle all the way down there on Friday and all the way up again on Monday, so I secured my bike to the bridge railings and abseiled...

It's a long way down!

I'd intended on landing on the 'Forth Belle', a tourist boat, that was going to take me to the Queensferry harbour and I'd walk the short distance from there to the Inn.

It was a tricky manoeuvre for an unaccomplished abseiler like myself, but doable, so I thought, and the captain had agreed that I could attempt it.  Unfortunately I got my timings completely wrong and missed the boat entirely.  I splooshed spectacularly into the Firth of Forth and somehow simultaneously became detached from the abseiling ropes.  This may have been because I didn't really have any idea what I was doing when I was attaching myself to them, and I'm really quite amazed (and relieved!) that they remained tied to the bridge.  Anyway, yes, once again I ended up doing some impromptu swimming in some very, very cold water, and this time it turned out that I wasn't alone!

That's a Giant Lion's Mane Jellyfish!  They have incredibly long tentacles that sting badly, and this chap wasn't alone.  No, he was obviously out on the lash with all his mates for a weekend knees-up tentacles-up, and suddenly I had visions of myself being caught up in the middle of their boisterousness, stung profusely, and being left for dead, only to be dredged up by the river police at some later date.  If anyone can catastrophise it's me.

I thought that perhaps one of the tourists on the boat might have spotted me, after all, they'd been told to expect someone dropping by, but no.  Either nobody saw me plunge into the water or they thought I was out for a bit of wild swimming because nobody threw me a life ring from the boat or from the riverside.  They are there, ready for use if anyone happens to fall in, but they're only any use if someone actually deploys them.

It seemed to take forever for me to bubble up to the surface, and it took a lot of careful manoeuvring to avoid getting tangled up in all the stingy tentacles that were trying to caress me with their wickedness through the water.  Just as I came up and was able to take a huge gulp of air my breath was taken away by an amazing sight...

...A humpback whale was leaping out of the water and splooshing back quite spectacularly.  I was, it has to be said, both amazed and terrified.  It was an enormous animal, literally throwing its weight around, only meters from my head.  Plus, I was still trying to avoid being stung by those Giant Lion's Mane Jellyfish, though they'd also been slightly distracted by the wake being created by the whale.  I was in a quandary - did I hang around to watch the whale as I was sure I wouldn't see a humpback whale at such close quarters again, or did I make a tentative getaway through the faltering tentacles while I could?  I didn't have a chance to make that decision before I was paralysed by fear once again.  The whale flopped once more into the water...

... and swam towards me!

The jellyfish meant nothing to this huge animal, and almost as if it were the police of the sea, the jellyfish scarpered like discovered delinquents.  No matter that this was a young mother with a calf to protect...

And then the officer was almost on top of me.  I thought that was it - I was to experience extreme aquatic police brutality.  I closed my eyes and braced myself, but what came was a low-pitched hum and the gentlest touch.  The enormous animal was no brute; she was a mother and a nurturer.  She scooped me up on one of her enormous fins, her young calf at her side, and swam me to safety...

It was quite a ride!  Look at the wake...

She took me a little further up the river, just beyond the Queensferry Crossing, where the water was deep enough at the riverside for her to avoid being grounded.  Once I'd disembarked and climbed safely onto the rocks at the river's edge, she gave a parting leap into the air while I yelled and waved my thanks...

A magnificent animal.

I was now safe from the Giant Lion's Mane Jellyfish, and safe from the freezing water, but I was still stranded on a rocky riverbank a fair walk from the Hawes Inn, and I was dripping wet.

I climbed the rocks and scaled the steep bank.  I climbed over a fence and dropped face first into a pile of very fresh horse dung, which caused some unnecessary (in my opinion) amusement amongst the locals...

You might have to take my word for this if you've never experienced it, but it's hard to ignore a horse laughing at you with such gusto.  I did the mature thing - I stuck my tongue out and blew the biggest raspberry I could.  It didn't have any effect whatsoever, but it made me feel better.  I got up, dusted my sodden, stinky self down, and staggered on up the hill to the dry stone wall, which I deftly toppled over, head-over-heels.  The only witness was this chap by the neighbouring fence...

He was quizzical, but kept suitably quiet and let me continue on my way, which looked as though it was going to be much easier from now on.  The only problem might be that it looked as though it was going to be easier as I appeared to have ended up in someone's rather spectacular garden.  I quickly discovered that I was indeed right, and that I had fallen into the grounds of the Hope's family home.  That is, Lord and Lady Hope and their 17th Century stately home of Hopetoun House

I didn't want anyone to think I'd deliberately broken into their amazing grounds so I tentatively knocked on the front door, thinking that they probably never have anyone knock on their front door.  After all, it's not really the kind of house that I expect gets many cold callers or travelling salesmen.  Not surprisingly there was no answer, but my gentle knock revealed that the door was only pulled ajar.  I stepped inside to see if anyone was immediately available...

I was instantly absorbed by the subtle combination of grandeur and family home.  The antiques that screamed 'antique!' sitting comfortably beside crafty creations that softened the austerity, and I couldn't help but have a little peek around, all the while looking out for anyone to apologise to for my intrusion...

I was just considering whether I might be allowed a few minutes rest in this chair...

...when a woman appeared and looked slightly aghast.  At first I thought it was because she could see that I was contemplating sitting in this fine, exquisitely embroidered chair, then I thought that she was shocked at having found an intruder in the house.  I was partly right about that, but what I hadn't realised until that moment was that, not only was I still sopping wet and smelling of horse dung, but I also had a few bits of seaweed in my hair and on my clothes...

I apologised profusely for my appearance in her house, and my appearance in dripping seaweed.  I explained what had happened, though inexplicably she seemed quite incredulous.  However, she was 'kind' enough to offer me a spare dress she 'no longer wore,' though upon seeing it I had to wonder on what occasion she had ever worn it...

I may not look my best as a walking ball pool, but I guess it beats the seaweed monster look.  Just.

Once I'd changed I bundled up my sodden clothes, minus the seaweed, and stood at the door I'd embarrassingly left wide open, thanked the Lady of the house (with my fingers crossed when it came to the dress), and braced myself for the long walk through Hopetoun House grounds, through the streets of Queensferry, and all the way to Hawes Inn under the Forth Bridge...

Lady Hope must have misread my steeling myself for the trek as hesitation with a request for a lift because before I knew it she was offering to drive me to Hawes Inn.  She said her husband was out with the family car, and 'most of the other cars' were in use too, but she did have the little runaround that she could take me in, seeing as it was such a long way.  I really hadn't been angling for a lift, but as she was offering, and as I was wearing the most ridiculous dress ever made, I accepted.  It really wasn't what I was expecting...

Very cute, but barely any room for one, let alone two and half a ball pool.  It would be fair to say that I have no idea how we made it in one piece because there can hardly have been a centimetre of windscreen that wasn't blocked by plastic balls from my dress.  I was, though, extremely grateful to her for the lift, and as way of thanks for her kindness I offered to buy her dinner at the Hawes Inn.  She said that she hardly ever ate at such places, and it would be refreshing to eat at the local pub just once in her life, so yes, she would join me.  We each had a wonderful pub dinner and shared a delicious pudding...

...in a delightful, homely inn...

We had a great time together, chatting away, stuffing our faces with delicious food, getting to know one another, quaffing the wine, and drinking more than either of us should ever have had.  Needless to say, the little car stayed parked outside and Lady Hope and I staggered upstairs to two available bedrooms.  Still feeling somewhat indebted to Lady H (or Laytch, as I'd slurred her name into being), I let her take the first of the two rooms...

...but I did rather well out of this because the second room was both bigger and had a bigger bed...

Laytch knocked on my door sometime around noon the next day, looking rather the worse for wear, only to say that she'd had a wonderful time, that I could keep the dress if I wanted to, and that she'd better make her way home because hubby would be worried.  I insisted that I didn't need the dress any longer and it'd only be cumbersome on the rest of my epic ride, so thankfully she took it with her, but I was sure she knew I was grateful and had had a whale of a time - pun totally intended.  I spent the rest of the day curled up in bed, watching the royal wedding, and pretending to the rest of the world that I was merely tired from all the cycling.  I have emerged today, but only to sit in the sun in the beer garden, without any beer.  

It's been softies all the way for me today, that's for sure.  Softies and yummy home-cooked food in the sun.  I have to be fit for the continuation of my ride tomorrow.  I only have 60kms to do tomorrow, but that's still a fair way, especially if you're not feeling great.  With that in mind I'd better head to bed now, but I'll see you at my next port of call.  In the meantime, please do sponsor me if you haven't already.  It's easy to do at my Just Giving Page, and it's all in aid of the wonderful charity Pop-Up Gym, without which none of this ride would be possible.  As ever, please remember that every penny is very gratefully received and will be put to excellent use.

Gretna Green to Leadhills and Wanlockhead Railway

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...

Leadhills in the mist

Cottages at Leadhills

River in the Lowther Hills by Leadhills

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...

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...

Charlotte

Clayton

Clyde

Decauville

Elvan

Jack

Little Clyde

Luce

Mennock

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.

Sabre-Toothed Haggis

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