NC500 - Three Wheels on my Wagon

You know how it is.  Thanks Alan.  I now have an ear worm that I just cannot shift and I have been humming it to myself ALL bloody day.  And it will not stop.  A forever loop of 'Three Wheels on my Wagon' running riot in my head.  To explain...

London Alan is having a few problems with his bike.  Nothing major but all need fettling in one way or another.  Bits are dropping off or breaking as we sidle down the road.  Alan stops.  He's clearly irritated with something.  The front mudguard is rubbing on the front tyre with a regular brr brr brr on every rotation of the wheel.  I quickly spanner it and normality is resumed.  I start to hum:

'Three wheels on my wagon, and I'm still rolling along'...

A little later he hears a squeak from the right hand pedal.  We pass a local bike shop who immediately diagnose a problem with his wallet and start talking about putting the bike in the bike stand (uh oh) to check for problems with his bottom bracket, pedals and perhaps something even more expensive.  'Ooohhh.  Your chain is dusty!', they say.  Yeah no shit Sherlock we've been riding forest trails for the last day or so.  'Ooh grit on a chain is bad as it can wear it out you know' they say as they try their best to worry London Alan into submission.  Clearly they're short of business.  'We can fit you in now but might take a couple of hours to fix??...'.

Being that I am a Yorkshireman I quickly intervene and say, sorry mate we have to purchase food and have a train to catch.  We cannot wait.  I suggest to London Alan we ask for some oil with a ' if it gets worse as we ride we can fix it later in the journey.'  So with a bit of oil splurged on the pedal shaft and noise gone we are on our way before the Cherokees have the chance to scalp London Alan.   It's a bloody new bike for God's sake!

It's still in my head.  I'm now singing:

'Two wheels on my wagon. dum dum dum de dum dum....  I'm singing higgity haggety hoggity high, Pioneers they never say die... dum dee dum,... Hidden cave... and we will watch those Cherokees, go galloping by...'

"Duh Wayne, are you sure this is the right road?"
"Will you hush up, you and your maps..."

A little later...  'I've lost some bolts!' says London Al.  That's the bolts used to fix his front pannier carrier (which was removed before departure) to the front forks and the bolts have somehow worked themselves loose and been lost en route.  Here I go...:

'One wheel on my wagon.  But I'm still rolling along....' etc...

We follow the only road from the port of Armadale on Skye towards Kyle of Lochalsh today.  The sky to the east looks wild and foreboding with heavy squally rain across the water and in the mountains but somehow we weave around the island on an upsy downsey road and miss it all.  Atop the Skye bridge the wind sings in the guardrails and the weather out towards Plockton looks terrible.  The option of taking the train from Kyle of Localsh looks for sure the right move to get up to Lochcarron. We emerge from a cafe a little later.   It's amazing how within the hour the weather has passed and the sky has brightened.

We cycle the twisty hilly picturesque and as smooth as silk road towards Plockton.  Neither of us understand why it is not a major road on any Sustrans route map.  We rejoin the main road towards Strathcarron which presents big long hills ahead of us.  Grind Grind Grind.  We fight busy traffic along the single track main road which meanders at the side of the railway line and through Scotland's only avalanche tunnel and immediately hit a long 14% gradient on the final run into Strathcarron.   I'm snotting farting and rasping for breath on the climb.  My feet and arse are numb and have burning thighs as though I've been chasing Zebra meat for the last half hour.  I get to the top and flop off the bike.  Alan arrives moments later thoroughly creased by the hill.  We slowly set off to the Carron Restaurant for an early tea.

It's another 5 miles or so to the digs.   We stop at a local shop and toilet combo in Lochcarron and Alan, with legs akimbo, wobbles off to the public lavs for a pee.  He comes back and says 'I've bonked (1)'.  Really?  In a public toilet?  Lucky boy!  Can't remember last time I had a bonk says I.  No you silly prat.  Legs are completely out of energy.  If London Al were a marathon runner it'd be about this time I'd be helping him up off the floor after he'd run into the bog wall.  The tune rolls in to my head again....

'No wheels on my wagon, and I'm not rolling along....  Alan's been caught, by the Cherokees.   They look mad, things look bad, but I'm singing a happy song!  Higgity Haggity Hoggity High...!!!  

Here's the song.  Love it :-).

We've done over 50 miles today and over 3500ft of ascent according to my crap nav.  Tomorrow it's the Bealach Na Ba pass.  Bealack?  Yeah it's the noise one makes when you get to the top of it.  It's 7 miles of continuous 6% to 8% gradient hell peaking at over 15% in places.  Up up up to 2000ft and into the clouds.

We'll both be 'bonking' tomorrow.  No not together..

Nite...

(1) Bonked.  A cycling term for people who have depleted their glycogen stores and run out of energy after a particularly hard ride.  Its called bonking cos your wobbly legs look like the back end of a dog shagging as you walk along with your bike...