NC500 - I've been Tumbled

I arrived at the Sands campsite last night soaked to the core and cold.  A long undulating ride along the Gairloch shores to a hidden in the dunes campsite with more than one short sharp pillock of a hillock to climb was enough for today.  It was getting late as I had stopped to have dinner with Alan who had wimped out of another night with me because, 1, I snore, a lot; and 2, it’s a campsite again.  

I squish squeeshed my way into Alan's hotel lobby with water cascading from every orifice.  ‘Hello’ I gargled.  Do you have somewhere I can get changed?  I suppose the presence of a human waterfall courtesy of Glen Torridon at table number 27 in the restaurant would for sure put the other diners off their water biscuits.  I hit the gents toilet like a small tsunami and spill into cubicle number 1.  I fought to get stuff off.  Boots - squish, plop, plop.  My jacket flumped on the floor.  So did my shorts and cycling underwear, a bigger flump I thought as though I’d filled my pants.  2 layers of not waterproof undergarments went plop.  I wipe myself down with paper towels and put on some dry clothing.  I squeeze out everything over the sink which gurgled like someone had left the cold tap running.  

I pour the rainwater from my boots and stuff them with as much paper towelling as I can find.  For sure the toilet cleaner will wonder who the hell needed so much towelling, and who needed to hosepipe out cubicle number 1 unless it was to deal with the aftermath of a rather messy number 2.

I hung both jackets and a liner bag full of the wet stuff in the toilet entrance vestibule and go through to the bar.  I have no spare shoes so I sneak into the bar with only socks on my feet.  I find a dry cider, a bag of salty crisps and the crap internet wifi details.  But still no mobile signal.  Looks like ‘Three’ can’t be arsed to put a network up in this town for fear of it being washed out.

Kids for sure notice my lack of shoes but say nowt.  Old folk see a fat man silently skate by on a hard polished floor and wonder what the hell?  I tell others why I’m in socks just to save them the embarrassment of asking where my shoes were …

With dinner done I slip and slide back into the gents.  There’s a huge puddle under my coats which have continued to pour like the falls of Glen Torridon.  With a slishing sound I slide the cold coats back on.  Ooohhh!  I pull an enormous gurn as I slip my feet back into my boots and squish squish my way back to reception leaving the 'slippy surface' sign outside the gents door.  I suggest to the receptionist that she gets her bestest wet weather gear on and go into the bogs to clean 'em up.

The campsite reception should have closed at 6pm but was still open when I arrive at about 8.  The receptionist was getting the longest off piste moan from another camper about how close other campers were to her pitch when in fact all she wanted was for him to give her a 4 quid refund cos she wasn't going to use the electric hookup tonight.  Fer God's sake, I’d have giver her 10 quid just to frog off as standing waiting for the receptionist whilst leaking everywhere was not funny.  

I’m lucky.  The site has a laundrette and cos he’s still here I take a wad of paper towel wrapped notes from my pocket and hand him one in exchange for a handful of coins.  I see that the ink on Scottish 20 quid notes isn’t fast as a perfect reverse image of it is left imprinted in the wet paper towel.  I couldn’t be arsed though trying to spend it.  

I’m the only one in the laundrette room.  I spy a free industrial size dryer, load it with coins, press the medium heat button, throw myself in and close the door.  30 minutes later and feeling seasick I step out - dry.  The lady loading washing machine number 2 takes a wide eyed step back as though I’ve just stepped out of a worm hole Rick and Morty style.  The wigwam is made of wood and is dry and warm.  I put out a line to hang up all my other stuff that like me should not be thrown into a dryer.  I roll out the sleeping bag and before I know it I’m asleep.  Before nine-thirty.

Alan woke up early.  Eager to get rid of the bum on a bike look he decides to have a shave.  He proceeds to fully lather his face before he notices the minty smell; he’s used his toothpaste which was adjacent to and similar in texture to his shaving cream.  All I can say is that shit happens.  At least he’s not tried to clean his teeth yet with his bum cream.  It’s amazing what tiredness does to folk.  

Likewise I’m up early and writing to a text file waiting for some kind of connectivity to be restored to my laptop.  My boots are still wet.  A small bit of manky paper towel drops out from inside the toe of my left boot.  I thought the boot felt tight last night.  I’m no Vogon but I did consider writing an ode to a small bit of wet green towel that fell out of my boot one midsummer night.  Even though I am Grunthos the Flatulent’s fat wet brother, I abandoned that idea cos I am too fecking knackered.  Anyway I’m a full bird member of the Mid-Galactic Blog Nobbling Council (no not the Mid-Galactic Nob Gobbling Council) and need no further kudos in this respect.

Oh yes, today’s ride.  A stunning day.  That fecking cold front which caused the North Atlantic to be deposited directly into Glen Torridon has moved on and so it’s been a cooler / dryer and generally sunnier day today.  Alan is somewhere behind me.  I stop and again hear the sound of a distant Cuckoo cuckcooing ‘what the fecking hell, fecking hills, feck…’ as we struggle up another steep incline.  

We pass Loch Ewe from where most of the Russian Convoys to the Baltic departed during the Second World War.  Alan poignantly notes that this might have been the last piece of land seen and walked upon by many sailors during the war.  We stand in silence remembering them.  

It’s been a day of stunning views of the coastline as seen in the following piccies…

Tonight we are in the Dundonell Hotel.  It has pristine views over Little Loch Broom and a combo of the Pirates of Penzance crossed with a small Mexican Mariachi band playing in the bar…

I’m sat in a darkened room trying to let Alan get to sleep before my howitzers start..

I hope he has a good night…