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Pictish Trail, Scotland – September 18th (Day 2)

I heard the rain pounding on the tent all night, making me doubt its ability to endure. My tent is waterproof, but the gear gets less so with time. The sound receded as it was time to get up. I was feeling hopeful that we could get a break and it would stop raining. We dismantled the camp and realized that things became heavier when they were wet. I’ve learned from past mistakes that wet and dry things should be kept separate. Especially my sleeping gear and clothes. I’ve also learned that nothing will stay 100% dry. The moisture will always saturate everything in the tent. Everything seemed damp that morning of the second day. My hope about the rain giving us a break was an illusion of my annoyed mind. The elements dictate your experience when camping. The rain only stopped momentarily for us to pack things up. The minute we were ready to proceed with our journey, it would start raining again. I was incredibly grateful because the temperature was warm. We attempted to ride, but the ground was too soft and the trail was damaged by water, creating muddy patches. Walking was the only option for the few remaining miles of this picturesque route. I felt the water sloshing in my boots. I put my dishwasher gloves on, but they felt wet too. We took a break to filter water from the stream that crossed our path. We frequently paused to catch our breath and admire the scenery. The mountain goats across the river valley have caught our attention. It was cool. We arrived at a river crossing. Chris tried to cross where the water wasn’t as deep. I just walked through the water. My boots were filled with it anyway and the extra effort to keep them dryer wouldn’t change much anyway. We passed another gate, which I could not figure out how to open. Chris’s engineering mind resolved the problem quickly. We continued on the dirt double track now, but the climbing got steeper. The river and rain made a symphony of sounds. I couldn’t focus my mind on any other sound.

After a bumpy downhill, we reached a road. We were aware that there should be a place to eat on our way. We started pedaling up a paved road. The place was in the other direction (off route), and we missed it, as we later discovered from the map. The road was a busy one and the rainy mist prevented the drivers from seeing us. Some stopped and yelled at us: ”Do you want to get killed?” Some just beeped. The passing tracks sprayed water on us. I tried to pedal as fast as I could. I quietly hoped we would survive and find a place to warm up. We survived of course, and soon we arrived in town.

We found a little café despite some places being closed. It wasn’t warm there and my clothes stuck to me uncomfortably. I asked the lady behind the counter for garbage bags. She gave me a couple and I wrapped them around my feet inside my boots. I couldn’t stand the sloshing water anymore. Every time I stepped, I squeezed the water out of my soles, and it felt like I had a paddle inside of them. The plastic bags isolated my feet and made them feel better even though my socks were wet, or they just gave me an illusion of some comfort. We had crepes for breakfast with sausage, eggs, and some veggies. I ordered one with apple pie and ice cream on top of my main course. I felt starved. They were delicious and the hot tea spread heat through me from inside.

It was time to depart and continue our journey. As I rode I felt the plastic bags to rip, and my feet situation didn’t improve after all. My full stomach gave me a sense of comfort despite it. The rain slowed and my jacket kept my torso dry. That was wonderful and prevented me from noticing the negative things. I reassured myself, “I can do this.” “This isn’t that bad”. Also, the visibility improved, and I remembered why I was doing this. Appreciation washed over me, and happiness filled me.

The rain was sporadic for the rest of the day. We veered off the paved road after a while and took a left to reach a bridge. The grass leading onto it was covered with sheep feces. It was hard to navigate around it and it stuck to our tires. They built the bridge with a higher staircase, and we had to carry our bikes. Chris carried his bike and came back to help me with my bike. When I started pushing my bike up, I realized how slippery the wooden steps were and felt remorse for not helping Chris with his bike. In the process of pushing it up and then down, I got the sheep poop on my pants and gloves. Chris did too. We tried to wash it off with the wet grass.

The route included a steep grassy climb and then several miles on gravel. Then there was a fun downhill. The wet poop from the tires was splattering everywhere, with the mud flowing down. We passed three bikepackers. They were climbing in the opposite direction. The views were stunning, and the fleeing sheep were hilarious.

By the end of the day, we found camping off some muddy double track. It started pouring right after we set up camp. It felt fantastic to be in dry clothes in my sleeping bag. I fell asleep instantly that night.