(Note: This is a continuation of my previous posts on Bike for Nepal. It makes more sense if you read them first.)
One of the reasons why I decided to go solo on this ride was to really appreciate the difference that adventure tour organizers and guides like the Sherpas make. I have always depended on them, whether it was in Nepal, Kilimanjaro, Denali or cycling from Bombay to Goa or from Manali to Leh. They take care of the logistics -- route planning, accommodations, food, water supply, first aid, bike repair, and any exigencies that might arise -- and they transport your gear from one stopover to the next (except on Denali, where you lug your own gear). You have your group to provide support and camaraderie, and the guides to make sure of your welfare. There is no chance of getting lost. All you have to do is ride.
Call my original plans unduly optimistic or egotistical, but I realized very quickly that I needed to adjust them based on the progress I was actually making on the ground. It was not going to be possible for me to do LEJOG in 10 days, not with dealing with my own bike issues, figuring out routes and losing time when I make mistakes, and carrying my 30L backpack. So my night halts, and therefore the B&B reservations, had to be changed on the fly. One advantage of going it alone is that you do have the flexibility to do so.
Here is the route I ended up following. You can zoom in down to the street level if you follow the link. I stopped over at the following places: Carnon Downs (Cornwall), Lostwithiel (Cornwall), Okehampton (Devon), Bridgwater (Somerset), Monmouth (Monmouthshire, Wales), Shrewsbury (Shropshire), Whitchurch (Shropshire), Preston (Lancashire), Penrith (Cumbria), Moffat (Dumfries & Galloway, Scotland), Hamilton (South Lanarkshire, Scotland), Crianlarich (Perthshire, Scotland).
I was enjoying the time I was spending during chance encounters with various kinds of people.
I decided not to be controlled by the clock, but take my time with my discovery of the UK and its people. However, starting early each day would afford me more freedom to do so, and still make good mileage.
Day 4 and 5
One of the reasons why I decided to go solo on this ride was to really appreciate the difference that adventure tour organizers and guides like the Sherpas make. I have always depended on them, whether it was in Nepal, Kilimanjaro, Denali or cycling from Bombay to Goa or from Manali to Leh. They take care of the logistics -- route planning, accommodations, food, water supply, first aid, bike repair, and any exigencies that might arise -- and they transport your gear from one stopover to the next (except on Denali, where you lug your own gear). You have your group to provide support and camaraderie, and the guides to make sure of your welfare. There is no chance of getting lost. All you have to do is ride.
Call my original plans unduly optimistic or egotistical, but I realized very quickly that I needed to adjust them based on the progress I was actually making on the ground. It was not going to be possible for me to do LEJOG in 10 days, not with dealing with my own bike issues, figuring out routes and losing time when I make mistakes, and carrying my 30L backpack. So my night halts, and therefore the B&B reservations, had to be changed on the fly. One advantage of going it alone is that you do have the flexibility to do so.
Here is the route I ended up following. You can zoom in down to the street level if you follow the link. I stopped over at the following places: Carnon Downs (Cornwall), Lostwithiel (Cornwall), Okehampton (Devon), Bridgwater (Somerset), Monmouth (Monmouthshire, Wales), Shrewsbury (Shropshire), Whitchurch (Shropshire), Preston (Lancashire), Penrith (Cumbria), Moffat (Dumfries & Galloway, Scotland), Hamilton (South Lanarkshire, Scotland), Crianlarich (Perthshire, Scotland).
I was enjoying the time I was spending during chance encounters with various kinds of people.
I decided not to be controlled by the clock, but take my time with my discovery of the UK and its people. However, starting early each day would afford me more freedom to do so, and still make good mileage.
As I kept making progress towards the North, various developments were taking place domestically in the UK, and internationally as well. Tour de France started in Leeds, and Chris Froome, UK's favorite cyclist and the defending champion, exited early after multiple crashes. David Cameron reshuffled his cabinet and brought in more women, and talking heads on the TV called it window dressing. India vs. England Test series in the gentlemen's game of cricket got off to an acrimonious start with a shoving match between Jadeja and Anderson. Germany won its first World Cup as a united nation, leaving Argentina's Messi with the Golden Ball award, which must have rubbed salt into his wounds. The hapless Malaysian Airlines suffered a second disaster in less than five months when flight MH 17 was shot down over eastern Ukraine, and the world was horrified at the treatment of the victims at the crash site. Rory McIlroy won the British Open and his father collected a handsome amount on a bet he placed when Rory was 16, that his son would win the tournament before the age of 26. The conflict between Israel and Hamas escalated first with aerial bombing of Gaza and then a ground invasion.
And here I was, as my friend Srinivas put it, someone born in India and living in America, cycling in Britain to help a few people in Nepal. Whatever we do in this world is insignificant from one perspective, but from a different perspective, it is everything.
And I felt the warmth and love of UK every step of the way. Wherever I stopped, I was received with some amount of curiosity, but mostly with friendliness and an eagerness to help. Here's someone who's just passing through, intersecting with local lives for a few minutes or at the most a few hours, who could be dealt with with some businesslike politeness and never be seen again. Instead, often improbable meetings turned into what promise to be enduring friendships. After the initial greetings, there was usually the following sequence of questions:
1. Where are you coming from? Which has many answers: the place where I slept the previous night, Land's End, New Jersey, or India. I usually answered with Land's End. The other answers followed in the ensuing discussion.
2. Where are you going? John O'Groats.
3. Are you doing this for charity? Yes. What's your charity? This question allowed me to talk about the mountain workers of Nepal and how we plan to help them.
Most people I met had a soft corner for Nepal, loved the Gurkhas, and had heard about the unfortunate accident on Mount Everest that claimed 16 Sherpas in April. And they showed their generosity in their own way time and again.
And here I was, as my friend Srinivas put it, someone born in India and living in America, cycling in Britain to help a few people in Nepal. Whatever we do in this world is insignificant from one perspective, but from a different perspective, it is everything.
And I felt the warmth and love of UK every step of the way. Wherever I stopped, I was received with some amount of curiosity, but mostly with friendliness and an eagerness to help. Here's someone who's just passing through, intersecting with local lives for a few minutes or at the most a few hours, who could be dealt with with some businesslike politeness and never be seen again. Instead, often improbable meetings turned into what promise to be enduring friendships. After the initial greetings, there was usually the following sequence of questions:
1. Where are you coming from? Which has many answers: the place where I slept the previous night, Land's End, New Jersey, or India. I usually answered with Land's End. The other answers followed in the ensuing discussion.
2. Where are you going? John O'Groats.
3. Are you doing this for charity? Yes. What's your charity? This question allowed me to talk about the mountain workers of Nepal and how we plan to help them.
Most people I met had a soft corner for Nepal, loved the Gurkhas, and had heard about the unfortunate accident on Mount Everest that claimed 16 Sherpas in April. And they showed their generosity in their own way time and again.
Day 4 and 5
Consider Lisa Parker, whom I met just outside of Crediton (Devon). I left Betty Cottles Inn at 6:30 am, stopped in Okehampton center, and was making excellent progress on A3072 when, all of a sudden, I had a flat in my back tire. It was a fairly busy morning traffic-wise, and there was no shoulder. I didn't feel it safe to work on the flat there, and thumbed a ride. Lisa, who was driving a van, gave me a ride into town to a bike shop by the name of Bike Shed. Our conversation went along the lines I described above, and while I was getting the bike out of the van, she told my story to the shop owner who promptly took care of my flat. I won't forget the parting hug that she gave me. The bike shop owner, for his part, refused to charge me for replacing my tube. I tried to give him some business by picking up a couple of energy gels, but he gave them to me for free as well!
Pauline's B&B is on Monmouth Street in Bridgwater in Somerset County -- which are all places you can find in New Jersey, leading some to ask me why I had to go all the way to the UK. Below, Pauline's husband Dave with her sister and friend.
Day 6
I tried to avoid the Bristol metropolitan area but you really can't if you want to take the old Severn Bridge. This beautiful bridge connects England to South Wales. The weather was gorgeous, and a beautiful ride from Chepstow to Monmouth along the Wye river awaited me on the other side of the bridge.
I stayed at the Mayhill Pub and B&B in Monmouth, Wales. The picnic tables in the front yard were occupied by a few beer drinkers, and the sign below broke my resistance after a long day, and I had my first beer of the trip.
These guys gave me company and bought me a second beer. The guy in the middle, Mike, visits the U.S. almost every year. He has been to 23 states, including some that I haven't yet set foot in. (But I have seen more of Scotland than him -- he has gone as far as Newcastle but never entered Scotland.) Monmouth is a relatively small town with a population of 13,000, but there are 16 people from this place who live in Panama City Beach, Florida.
The Welsh were really the most fun loving people I encountered. This guy passed out in the bar and everybody, including the bartender, took turns painting his face.
Day 7
Since I went to bed very late in Monmouth, I woke up late and it was past 11 am by the time I left the place. Progress was rather sluggish until I took a long lunch break at Hereford, after whcih I felt my energy come back. It was sunny and warm until about 6 pm. Had I left Monmouth early, I could easily have reached Shrewsbury, my destination, by that time. After 6 pm, it started pouring and I had to push hard through the rain to reach Shrewsbury before dark. Below, Lucroft Guest House, my B&B in Shrewsbury town center. Shrewsbury happens to be the birthplace of Charles Darwin.
Day 8
I had one of my most heartwarming experiences shortly after I left Shrewsbury. I stopped for lunch at a small place called Pemberton's Cafe. The gentleman in the picture above chatted with me about my trip, told me that he is in the construction business and moved to this area from Cheshire. I couldn't resist asking him if he has a cat, and he said with a smile that indeed he does! As he left, he shook my hand and gave me £5 for Nepal. I later stepped out to get my water bottle for a refill. This random kind man happened to be pulling out of the parking lot. I can't forget the smile he gave me as he honked twice, waved and drove off.
And the lady who runs the restaurant asked me how many people were doing the ride with me. I told her that she was looking at all of them, so she offered me a brownie!
My pleasant lunch experience was not enough to energize me. The late night at Monmouth, and the late push the previous night to Shrewsbury, took their toll and I felt drained. So I stopped at Whitchurch for the night, where I watched the World Cup final between Germany and Argentina. I rooted hard for Argentina, but Germany won anyway, deservedly so.
Day 9
I left Whitchurch well rested and reached Warrington by lunch time, passing by this interesting castle on the way. Warrington is a fairly large metropolitan area, which, interestingly enough, is twinned with Lake County, Illinois.
I stopped in what looked like a shopping mall along A49 where I picked up some items at a pharmacy and grabbed some lunch. This nice gentleman, Spencer, offered to watch my bike while I had lunch. The least I could do was make a small contribution to the Army of Angels for whom he was collecting donations.
North of Wigan, in a place called Standish, this street of rowhouses with chimneys reminded me of Dick Van Dyke's Chim Chim Cheree in Mary Poppins.
Day 10
Continuing on towards Lancaster, I was already beginning to like the place with this sign for yoga at a community center. Lancaster itself is a beautiful university town with the Lune river running through it.
I continued on to Kendal where I had lunch and rested up a little bit in preparation for one of the biggest climbs of the trip. My destination for the night was Penrith, and if you are riding a bike you have no option but to take A6 and ride up to Shaps Fell and then descend about 1500 ft to Penrith. Here's a view of the Lake District, looking to the west as you ride on A6.
Penrith is a pretty little town, a gateway to the Lake District. I stayed at the Blue Swallow Guesthouse. Barry and Cynthia, the owners, were waiting for me on the street to make sure that I didn't miss the place. They have both traveled to India multiple times. Here's Cynthia describing her travels in South India to me.
Day 11
After an early lunch break at Carlisle, I was happy to finally reach Scotland.
On my way to Moffat, where I planned to stop for the night, I passed by Lockerbie but my route did not take me through the village. I paused to remember the victims of Pan Am 103. The next day, Malaysian Airlines MH 17 was shot down over eastern Ukraine. Only later did I notice there is a reference to Ukraine in the picture below. I know it's garbage, but I am saying it anyway.
About 10 miles south of Moffat, passing through the village of Johnston Bridge, I saw the rain approaching and put on my jacket. Before I could put the hood on, the rain went from 0 to 60 in 1 second. I could not even see clearly through my glasses. I saw a house with a car parked in front of it and rang the bell. This lady Helen opened the door, and I requested to take shelter in the garage. She stayed with me until the rain subsided and chatted with me about my trip.
This is me when I reached Moffat. And below are the "water proof" shoe covers I bought at the Cyclehouse in Warrington that turned out to be worthless.
Across from my hotel in Moffat, there was this Indian restaurant run by a Bangladeshi guy beckoning me. I had a thali dinner there, and was joined by the chef, Ophi, for tea. His story reminded me of the line "some of them want to abuse you, some of them want to be abused" by Annie Lennox. Ophi had a successful career in Edinburgh, His family still lives there. He has a son who is doing very well in school there. He feels obligated to the owner of this small town restaurant for some reason ("He is like my older brother.") and moved here to take over the kitchen. It was apparent that he was not happy. The owner was clearly worried he might go back to Edinburgh. He made me sign his visitor book, and then showed it to Ophi, who came over to talk to me. The owner kept hovering around. Ophi, if you are reading this, here's my advice to you: Go back to Edinburgh, be with your family, and be happy. Whatever favors your "older brother" may have done for you, he is demanding too big a price from you, and more than undoing whatever good he may have done. Pay it forward and help someone else and live with a clear conscience.
Day 12
This is the section of the byroad that runs parallel to A74 north of Moffat. Most cyclists take this road from Carlisle to Glasgow. It is by far the worst surface that I have ridden over in my trip. The front shocks certainly made it easy on my hands, but the rest of my body was vibrating so hard that my vision was blurred in some places! My freind Phil who rode this way two years ago told me to consider avoiding this section and go to Glasgow via Dumfries. I didn't take his advice, figuring that they might have resurfaced the road by now.
Aside from bad road conditions, the byroad has no services and is pretty desolate because most drivers use the motorway. There are places like this small village, Crawford, off the road, where I had lunch. This place -- a corner store , a deli, post office, what have you -- is pretty much the only game in town. When I asked to use a toilet, they directed me to their personal toilet -- the family that runs the place lives in the same building.
Progress was slow on the way to Glasgow because my left knee started complaining. This is the same knee that had a tiny tear in the miniscus last year. This worried me a little bit. I stopped for tea at Hamilton, just south of Glasgow, and after riding a couple of hundred yards more, I decided it was best to stop for the day and ice the knee. So I got a room at a place called Villa Hotel which happened to be nearby. After ice, a shower, and then ice again for the knee, I went to get some food at an Indian takeaway operated by this man from Lahore. Villa Hotel doesn't allow outside food, so I asked to eat right there. We carried on a conversation in half Hindi and half Urdu while other customers kept coming and going. Rather than reheat and serve me precooked stuff, my Pakistani friend made me fresh items. And that Pepsi can in my hands was on the house.
Day 13 and 14
On my way to Glasgow, I stopped at a Boots pharmacy and got some "Deep Freeze" gel to rub into my knee, and a fairly robust knee brace. That seemed to help and I made it past Glasgow to Loch Lomond riding on a nice bike path that runs along the Clyde river. This couple from Glasgow, Mary and Graham, gave me company from Glasgow to Balloch on Loch Lomond. They visit New York City occassionally, and I invited them to join me for a bike ride next time they come here.
Back in Glasgow, the city center was bustling with preparations for the Commonwealth Games. I had arranged with a bike shop called Pronto Gara to pack my bike in a box so that I could check it in on my flight to Newark. It took some effort, and Colin, the guy above, helped me do a decent job. Here's how it went down between me, Colin, and the owner of the shop:
Me: How much do I owe you?
Colin: (Looks at the owner)
Owner to Colin: That's his bike and you helped him. It's between you and him.
Me: Here's twenty.
Colin: That's too much. Almost your cab fare to the airport. Give me ten.
And then, Colin took from me the address for the website to make a donation for Nepal.
How can you not love these people?
*****
When I reread what I wrote, I am afraid it sounds a little Pollyannaish. I am sure that the UK has its own share of problems: crime, deceit, corruption and biases. Why, while I was there a dragnet netted a ring of more than 600 pedophiles. What my personal experiences did, though, was to gradually change my notion of the British (especially the English) as polite but distant people and show me how warm, open and generous they are. During my journey of more than 675 miles, I never once locked my bike, and never had to show my passport or any other ID. I felt very welcome, and appreciated that without exception people empathized with my cause.
At a time when civilian planes are getting shot down by missiles, and military planes are killing civilians, religious armed conflicts are raging in different parts of the world, and a siege mentality is locking up our better angels, my journey through the UK and my interactions with ordinary people did nothing to dispel and everything to reinforce a fundamental belief of mine: All over the world, people are inherently good.
With Lisa Parker, in Crediton (Devonshire)
With the owner of the Bike Shed, Crediton
The scenery in Devon is just as pretty as Cornwall.
Tiverton, affectionately called Tivvy, is an interesting place and I would have liked to spend a night here as originially planned. I just stopped for tea and a carrot cake (below) and moved on.
I stopped at this place, between Tiverton and Taunton, for some yoga stretches, and was glad that a fence separated me from my audience (below).
My meeting with Pauline was pure serendipity. I wanted to make as much progress towards Bristol as possible, and decided that Bridgwater was a good place to stop for the night. I stopped at a hotel I saw soon after entering Bridgwater. It was way beyond my budget, but the lady at the front desk connected me to a B&B called The Admiral's Table, which also turned out to be pricy. I took a room there, however, since it was getting late. I followed the directions that the guy gave me on the phone, and saw a place called Admiral Blake Guesthouse. I wasn't sure if I misheard the name on the phone, and certainly did not want to backtrack, so I knocked on the door and Pauline, the owner, answered. She showed me a room which I thought was fine, like the other rooms I stayed at. I wasn't sure why it was so pricy -- perhaps it was the location. When I settled the bill in the morning, it was less than half of what I was expecting to pay! Obviously I had come to a different place, and was glad that I did so. My legs were asking for a break, so I decided to stay an extra day there, and got a chance to talk to Pauline.
Pauline married early, and has three daughters, all well educated and accomplished, the oldest of whom was first an exchange student in Connecticut, then worked in the U.S., and is now a business owner in Devon. Pauline is widely traveled, has been to India twice, several times to the U.S., and likes to take international cycling vacations with her husband Dave. She is full of stories about her guests, and is fun to talk to. She said that no one gave her a chance to succeed when she was growing up, but she worked hard and by the time she was 19 bought her first home. The picture above is dark, but you can still see a glow in her face. I hope she takes me up on my invitation to visit me on her next trip to the States.
Day 6
The ride along the beautiful Wye River. The locals claim that the beauty of the valley rivals that of New England in the fall.
I stayed at the Mayhill Pub and B&B in Monmouth, Wales. The picnic tables in the front yard were occupied by a few beer drinkers, and the sign below broke my resistance after a long day, and I had my first beer of the trip.
A younger crowd soon gathered and by the time I made it to my room for a shower it was 11 pm. I had some Indian takeout delivered, and after a big meal, did not fall asleep until after 2 am. I would pay for this indulgence for the next two days.
Day 7
Leaving Monmouthshire and reentering England.
Since I went to bed very late in Monmouth, I woke up late and it was past 11 am by the time I left the place. Progress was rather sluggish until I took a long lunch break at Hereford, after whcih I felt my energy come back. It was sunny and warm until about 6 pm. Had I left Monmouth early, I could easily have reached Shrewsbury, my destination, by that time. After 6 pm, it started pouring and I had to push hard through the rain to reach Shrewsbury before dark. Below, Lucroft Guest House, my B&B in Shrewsbury town center. Shrewsbury happens to be the birthplace of Charles Darwin.
Day 8
And the lady who runs the restaurant asked me how many people were doing the ride with me. I told her that she was looking at all of them, so she offered me a brownie!
My pleasant lunch experience was not enough to energize me. The late night at Monmouth, and the late push the previous night to Shrewsbury, took their toll and I felt drained. So I stopped at Whitchurch for the night, where I watched the World Cup final between Germany and Argentina. I rooted hard for Argentina, but Germany won anyway, deservedly so.
Day 9
I stopped in what looked like a shopping mall along A49 where I picked up some items at a pharmacy and grabbed some lunch. This nice gentleman, Spencer, offered to watch my bike while I had lunch. The least I could do was make a small contribution to the Army of Angels for whom he was collecting donations.
I reached Preston, where I stayed for the night, and discovered that TJ Maxx is actually TK Maxx in the UK. I made it to my B&B by about 8:30 pm. Unfortunately, the owner forgot to give me my soap and towel, and went out. By the time he came back, and I took my shower, the restaurants in the area were closed. So I found a gas station with a convenience store and grabbed the items below for dinner.
Day 10
On my way to Lancaster from Preston, I stopped for tea at a food truck (or trailer) that was operated by this couple. Emma and Mark's business was 5 weeks old and they were happy with the way things were going. They have 5 children, the youngest of whom is just entering school. Emma, who took care of the kids while Mark did gardening and other kinds of jobs, always wanted to have this business, and decided that this was the time to act. They gave me a piece of tart to go with my tea, and an ice cold water bottle, on the house.
Continuing on towards Lancaster, I was already beginning to like the place with this sign for yoga at a community center. Lancaster itself is a beautiful university town with the Lune river running through it.
I continued on to Kendal where I had lunch and rested up a little bit in preparation for one of the biggest climbs of the trip. My destination for the night was Penrith, and if you are riding a bike you have no option but to take A6 and ride up to Shaps Fell and then descend about 1500 ft to Penrith. Here's a view of the Lake District, looking to the west as you ride on A6.
In Penrith, I had my only negative experience of the entire trip. After ordering a pizza for dinner, I took a stroll around town while the pizza was baking in the oven. A bunch of kids in a car made some loud racist comments, and by the time I turned around, the car was gone. All of my other experiences in the UK lead me to think that if I had a chance to talk to them, we could have parted as friends.
Day 11
About 10 miles south of Moffat, passing through the village of Johnston Bridge, I saw the rain approaching and put on my jacket. Before I could put the hood on, the rain went from 0 to 60 in 1 second. I could not even see clearly through my glasses. I saw a house with a car parked in front of it and rang the bell. This lady Helen opened the door, and I requested to take shelter in the garage. She stayed with me until the rain subsided and chatted with me about my trip.
This is me when I reached Moffat. And below are the "water proof" shoe covers I bought at the Cyclehouse in Warrington that turned out to be worthless.
Day 12
This is the section of the byroad that runs parallel to A74 north of Moffat. Most cyclists take this road from Carlisle to Glasgow. It is by far the worst surface that I have ridden over in my trip. The front shocks certainly made it easy on my hands, but the rest of my body was vibrating so hard that my vision was blurred in some places! My freind Phil who rode this way two years ago told me to consider avoiding this section and go to Glasgow via Dumfries. I didn't take his advice, figuring that they might have resurfaced the road by now.
Aside from bad road conditions, the byroad has no services and is pretty desolate because most drivers use the motorway. There are places like this small village, Crawford, off the road, where I had lunch. This place -- a corner store , a deli, post office, what have you -- is pretty much the only game in town. When I asked to use a toilet, they directed me to their personal toilet -- the family that runs the place lives in the same building.
Progress was slow on the way to Glasgow because my left knee started complaining. This is the same knee that had a tiny tear in the miniscus last year. This worried me a little bit. I stopped for tea at Hamilton, just south of Glasgow, and after riding a couple of hundred yards more, I decided it was best to stop for the day and ice the knee. So I got a room at a place called Villa Hotel which happened to be nearby. After ice, a shower, and then ice again for the knee, I went to get some food at an Indian takeaway operated by this man from Lahore. Villa Hotel doesn't allow outside food, so I asked to eat right there. We carried on a conversation in half Hindi and half Urdu while other customers kept coming and going. Rather than reheat and serve me precooked stuff, my Pakistani friend made me fresh items. And that Pepsi can in my hands was on the house.
Day 13 and 14
This is Ann, who owns the Villa Hotel with her husband Nadal. Ann is Scottish and Nadal is Palestinian. They have four sons aged between 23 and 33. There was a young man at the next table having breakfast, and after he left Ann remarked that when guests that age come to the hotel, she tends to "mother them a bit much!" Their sons are proud of their Palestinian heritage, and they all learned to work hard from their father, but they feel totally Scottish. (I can relate to that with my son being completely American). Ann told me about the actress who fought to get UK passports for the Gurkhas who served in the British Army, and offered support for our project in Nepal. I stopped at this hotel only to tend to my knee. I am glad I met this family.
On my way to Glasgow, I stopped at a Boots pharmacy and got some "Deep Freeze" gel to rub into my knee, and a fairly robust knee brace. That seemed to help and I made it past Glasgow to Loch Lomond riding on a nice bike path that runs along the Clyde river. This couple from Glasgow, Mary and Graham, gave me company from Glasgow to Balloch on Loch Lomond. They visit New York City occassionally, and I invited them to join me for a bike ride next time they come here.
This was the first weekend of summer vacation for the schools, and the Loch Lomond area was bustling with families with young children. It was not easy to find a B&B for the night. My nephew Sriram, who was providing me ground support from Houston, Texas, found a place in Crianlarich, about 35 miles away.
As I started making my way north on A82, a warning was flashing on a signboard by the highway: "Heavy Rains Forecast." I had no desire to get wet again, so i pushed hard, and even harder up the hill on top of which Crianlarich sits. When I reached the hotel, I saw my knee was swollen underneath the brace. I treated it again with ice and took Motrin but the swelling remained the next day. I took a rest day but the knee situation did not improve. After talking to a few doctor friends, sadly I decided to stop in Crianlarich. The end was in sight, but there was no medical help available until Ft. Augustus. I decided that I would come back next year, after launching the micro enterprise for the sherpas in Nepal, and finish the remainder of the route to John O'Groats.
Day 15
I took the train back to Glasgow. At the Crianlarich station, I met someone with something in common with me. Like me, Lynn was born in India and lives in America. However, she is English. Her father used to be in the British Navy and was stationed in Madras when she was born. She lived most of the first 16 years of her life in India, in Coonoor in the Nilgiris, and in Bombay. A retired geologist with the U.S. Army, she now lives in Louisiana. She has four daughters and 9 grandchildren, the oldest of whom is 7, and all of whom live in America.
Me: How much do I owe you?
Colin: (Looks at the owner)
Owner to Colin: That's his bike and you helped him. It's between you and him.
Me: Here's twenty.
Colin: That's too much. Almost your cab fare to the airport. Give me ten.
And then, Colin took from me the address for the website to make a donation for Nepal.
How can you not love these people?
*****
When I reread what I wrote, I am afraid it sounds a little Pollyannaish. I am sure that the UK has its own share of problems: crime, deceit, corruption and biases. Why, while I was there a dragnet netted a ring of more than 600 pedophiles. What my personal experiences did, though, was to gradually change my notion of the British (especially the English) as polite but distant people and show me how warm, open and generous they are. During my journey of more than 675 miles, I never once locked my bike, and never had to show my passport or any other ID. I felt very welcome, and appreciated that without exception people empathized with my cause.
At a time when civilian planes are getting shot down by missiles, and military planes are killing civilians, religious armed conflicts are raging in different parts of the world, and a siege mentality is locking up our better angels, my journey through the UK and my interactions with ordinary people did nothing to dispel and everything to reinforce a fundamental belief of mine: All over the world, people are inherently good.
