The Tay and Dundee

After lunch I explored Pittenweem., which has a seriously beautiful beachfront hidden away.  So many lovely villages next to each other.  Anstruther next door was a bigger place and still very attractive.

Then a long, flattish ride to St. Andrews.  I was originally going to stay in the youth hostel here but at £49 a night I decided to press on.  Didn't stay long in St. Andrews as I wanted to get on. Obviously a well kept place with the university and golf very much in evidence.   Plenty of intererting buildings including a ruined castle.  The streets were not lined with people waiting for news of a royal baby.

A fast ride to Dundee: up to Tayport which was deserted,   and then maybe 5 miles on cycle tracks, all with tarmac, leading directly to the cycle lane on the middle of the Tay bridge.  The bridge slopes gently across the river down to Dundee but not enough to get serious speed up.

Monday morning, 4am

Sleeping by the open window I was aware of the noise of Edinburgh's Leith Walk as the city went to sleep and then re-awoke.
A particularly noisy car alarm split the night.  In my dozy daze I wondered if one of the other domitory residents had an unsocially loud siren alarm clock.

But it was a siren.  Slowly we realised it was the fire alarm, and quickly the hostel emptied of half-dressed, half-awake people into the mild morning air.  The fire engine arrived outside as we did. 

After a short but heavy sleep I was away into the morning traffic, on a cool, dreich day.  Edinburgh's a grand city, on every sense, but it didn't fit with my seaside journey.  Roads dug up: building tramlines.  A hilly maze of diversions.   NCN1 signed through an alley. Suddenly I was in a different world of tiny stone houses and cobbled streets.

Then back onto an old railway route, quiet, easy cycling on tarmac through wooded cuttings.  Lovely.  This took me out of town, and then it was through suburban villages until I saw the Forth bridges in the mist.  Strictly speaking, shouldn't one of them be the Fifth bridge?  Over the cycleway in a gusty wind, concentrating. Every time I looked at the view I was blown sideways.

On the North shore I stopped at Inverkeithing for an early elevenses.   Lunchtime special: stovies and baked tatties.  Welcome to Fife.

On to Aberdour. Aber means bridge, dour means ... dour? Neat rows of understated stone houses, but no admission of being on the water's edge, save for its lack of altitude.  The next village, Kinghorn, marked the corner of the Firth of Forth where I turned North.  Ordinary houses overlooked the bay from high on a rocky promontory: a million-pound view on a sunny day.  The seaside seemed to be obscured by the railway.  

Kirkcaldy next, with the seaside cut off by a dual carriageway.  Maybe the Scots just don't do beach holidays.  In the seafront public loos, first I couldn't understand and then I couldn't believe it when the attendant wanted 30p to spend a penny. No seaside cafés either, but a bar down a side street suspiciously served me a tea.

Things were looking bad.  However after crossing the river Leven, things looked up.  The hills flattened out.  The town of Leven was thriving, with an excellent baker's shop selling decidly non-sickly sausage rolls.  I had a chocolate crispy slice too to make it a balanced meal.

Further on the beautiful village of Elie was clearly loved by its residents,  featuring Elie Deli among other shops.  This and St. Monans, next, had harbours for leisure but still didn't really show off their sea front - you had to seek it out.  Pittenweem, where I am now, is similarly attractive and has a perfect café too...

Edinburgh

After Dunbar, the terrain was mostly flat with a few big lumps that Mark Gladwyn would like. I didn't try them.  Rocky islands appeared off the coast, one large one completely white.   I headed to North Berwick, a well kept, bustling town which had won Britain in Bloom in 2010 and also achieved Loo of the Year several times in its heyday in the 1990s.  In my opinion the loos have gone downhill a bit since then.  The small harbour offered bird-watching trips, probably to the white island.

I was going to stop at the village of Gullane for tea, but it was full of traffic cones, police, and lots of signs telling you not to do this and that, and generally to move on.  Something to do with the golf thingy.  I moved on a few miles to a bothy shop and café which had a perfect selection of cakes. 

Then I was back on the shore of the Firth of Forth whizzing along by the water's edge.  Edinburgh was in sight but a long way round the bay.  After several small villages I came to Portobello beach which I guess is an Edinburgh suburb, with a nice promenade bordering a narrow windswept beach. 

On round the coast to Leith in the North, which for some reason I expected to be rough, but it was perfectly fine at 6pm on a Sunday. At the Ocean liner terminal I turned inland and travelled most of the way to the city centre youth hostel on a network of cycle paths through green avenues - I think they were once railways serving the docks.

Sound track, side 2

Sat: embarrassingly, Knock Three Times by Tony Christie and Dawn.

Sun: not sure of the title but 'the bonnie banks of Loch Lomond': 'you tak' the low road, and I'll tak' the high road / and I'll be in Scotland afore ye / for me and my true love will never never part(?)/ on the bonnie bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond.

Mon: A Day in the Life by the Beatles.  The tempo suited the ride through Monday morning Edinburgh.

Tues:  The Sound of Potatoes by Simon & Garfunkel: Hello potatoes my old friend / I've come to talk with you again. ..

Wed: 'There was an old woman who swallowed a fly' by ?

Thurs: Take my breath away from Top Gun.

Welcome to Scotland

Breakfast was a disorganised affair, with a single chap struggling to cope with a rush of customers, most of them up early to go to some golf thing at Muirfield.  Apologies, we've run out of eggs, and tomatoes.  I settled down for a lengthy wait with some charred toast (the toaster was playing up), but a gargantuan breakfast quickly arrived, with extra everything by way of an apology.

The walls of Berwick still look to be fully intact.  Perhaps there are lingering worries about the Scots.  I left through a tiny gate in the wall and climbed steadily out of town.  I had decided not to follow NCN1 as it went away from the coast for a while.  Further up the hill, a roundabout and I was on the A1.  Yikes!  Luckily it wasn't busy and the few cars passed in the outside lane.  Big sign with flags: 'Welcome to Scotland.  Wow. Soon I turned off onto a lane overlooking the coast, A1 and railway.   Up to 100 metres already.  I didn't realise the Scottish Highlands came this far South.

Next it was down to Eyemouth, 0 metres.  I wonder if they get much post mis-directed for Exemouth in Devon.  A working harbour, noisy and smelly, and a sign inviting us to Feed the Seals.  Gloves and hand wash provided.   In the water below, two seals were waiting to be of service, but not too keen to be photographed.  Round the corner, a sandy crescent of a beach.

I climbed steadily to 90 metres. A pattern was emerging.  Then an unnecessary but totally worthwhile diversion to beautiful St. Abbs with the perfect harbour, rocky surround, and café.  Overlooking the bay, a heart-breaking statue of wives and children looking out to sea, skirts blowing in the wind, in memory of 189 fishermen lost off the East coast of Scotland in the great storm of 1881.

As I steamed up the inevitable long hill out, the 100m contour crept into view on the GPS.  But no, it was the 200m contour! I told the cows what I thought in no uncertain terms.  They replied that I ought to get out less.  Actually the hills since Berwick were not bad, gentler gradients, and the following breeze didn't hurt either.   I passed through a platoon of wind turbines,  blowing me along.

Then came a brilliant long descent, snaking down the coast, doing 25-30mph all the way, grinning like an idiot and revving like a motorbike. I really have been away a long time.  Into a caravan park of a village by the sea, the only redeeming feature a ford.

The roads seem faster now, still pretty empty.  I'm now in Dunbar, which has the remains of a castle built to defend against the English, which once protected Mary Queen of Scots, and now harbours hundreds of nesting kittiwakes.

Life in the slow lane

Alnwick is a bit inland, and perhaps because of this it was oppressively hot last night and I didn't sleep well.  I was wide awake at 5 am so I got up and waited for breakfast, which didn't start till 8 am.  I got chatting to an old Geordie lad who had been all over the world and as a retired chap was making full use of his bus pass to travel all over Britain.  He told me of strange cross-breed rabbits he'd seen on Holy Island which have rat's tails.

Leaving the youth hostel eventually and passing over the same large hill, I had the pleasure of swooping down to the coast and having to apply the brakes on entering a 30 mph zone, for the little village of Alnmouth.   An exciting coast track soon followed, very varied with a few short pushes through deep sand and some quite steep ups and downs on questionable surfaces, but the changing views justified the effort and the slow progress.

Then it was the fishing village of Craster with a café that seemed to attract cyclists.   A Dutch couple were finishing a circuit from Newcastle across the Pennines, North via Arran and Skye to Inverness, and back down the East coast to Newcastle.  He had a well-laden bike trailer but they seemed to be enjoying the rough stuff.

The next town, Seahouses, must have been the tourist centre of Northumberland.   It was crammed with gift shops, chip shops, adverts for boat trips to the Farne Islands (which I guess were the real draw), and even a Northumbrian piper.  I wasn't able to tell the difference from Scots pipes but I took a picture and moved on.

The impressive Bamburgh castle was next, with a small, classy set of shops and eateries.  I met a group of young cyclists, one of whom had broken his chain a few miles back.  They had taken turns to push him up the hills to Bamburgh, hoping there would be a bike shop, but no such luck.  With my multitool, the chain was shortened and fixed, to their eternal gratitude.

My next stop was Holy Island, maybe 5 miles by crow but a rather boring 17 by bike.  Holy island is reached by a tidal causeway, perhaps to stop the rabbit/ rats escaping.  Dire warnings told you not to cross until the appointed time, which was 16.25 today. I planned to pass the two hour wait sitting in the cafe that was bound to be there, writing a few postcards and having a lazy lunch/ tea.  Huh.  Anyway by about 15:30 the causeway was visible, if wet, and all the waiting cars decided to cross.  After a while I followed.

The island is a giant nature reserve with a small village at the far end.  There's the ruined Lindisfarne priory (English Heritage) and Lindisfarne castle (National Trust - closes 15:30).  Plus an exhibition about the Lindisfarne Gospels.  Also a pub, so I went there.  Well I was short of time and as Mark commented earlier, hydration is very important when cycling.

After Holy Island it was only a short hop to Berwick, but the coastal character changed from sand dunes to rocky cliffs.   Who knew Berwick is a walled city? I didn't.  In the youth hostel, I got a Scottish £5 note in my change.   Scotland tomorrow ...

The perfect place

It's been an outstanding day.  After lunch I continued on small roads or tracks, to Blyth which had a big, empty beach then a park crammed with kids - the school holidays have just begun.  Turning inland along the river I was led astray by a small riverside café in a portacabin.  The jolly Geordie owner told me he was building it up to be as good as Betty's tearoom in Harrogate, only better as he has a giant fan to keep you cool - pointing at the wind turbine just across the river.

The bridge across the river was a few miles inland, along a smooth track following the banks on both sides.  A sign proclaimed I was on the Coast and Castles cycle route, and I'm pretty sure I was in Northumberland by now. Next was Newbiggin Bay, a pretty ordinary town with a perfect semi-circular sandy beach.   Then on a track through a nature reserve, with sand dunes between me and the sea, and the low sun above a lake on the other side.  A stoat ran across the path a few metres in front of me, but didn't stop for a photo.  Sorry.

Then I found the perfect spot.  Back on the road again in Cresswell, a tiny seaside hamlet of golden stone cottages, my attention was first drawn by the ice cream shop.  Then I noticed a castle to my left.  Above me three swallow chicks peeped out of nests in the eaves. To my right a huge expanse of beach, where a few people with binoculars had just spotted a couple of whales in the bay.  They were too far away for me to see but the whole experience was magical. 

I wanted to linger, but had to move on.  I ambled into Amble, a small port advertising puffin-watching boat trips, and on to Warkworth which had a larger castle, before heading up to Alnwick and the youth hostel.   Alnwick's a big, historic town with a huge castle, home to the Duke of Northumberland.  I'd like to spend more time here but there's more of Northumberland to explore tomorrow.

Too many photos to include...