3 September Le Tour de Bute

There wis me, mysel' an' several mare,
We a' resolved tae hae a tare,
A' spend the day in Rothesay-o.

It was Bob’s fault. He holds up his hands and admits it. The intention of last week was for a cycle on Bute providing the weather was good - Davie hates cycling in rain - with the poor weather alternative of Ness Glen or Ayrshire coast part two. Bob assured us of good weather and we listened to his assurance and went to Rothesay. So all that followed was Bob’s fault.
What wasn’t Bob’s fault was Jimmy’s problem obtaining a car parking ticket in the station at Wemyss Bay. The ticket machines were out of order and Jimmy chased all over the station to find one that worked. There were none. But Frank, who appeared to be mending one, told Jimmy just to go on without. Such was Jimmy’s fluster over trying to find a working machine before the ferry left that he forgot to buy a ferry ticket for his bike. But this wasn’t Bob’s fault. Or was it for he was the last one to use the ticket machine before it jammed.
Jimmy got his breath back on the ferry to Rothesay. It was he, not Robert this time, who brought up the subject of the Victorian toilets near the pier. He and Davie paid a visit to examine the art nouveau tile-work while the rest went in search of a coffee house. The one we had used the last time we were here (23/6/06) was chock-full but Rex found us one on the sea front. Coffee and scones for some, coffee and biscuits for others. And thus caffeinated, we took to the road.
So far we had been on the road for well over two hours and only two hundred metres of cycling done. Now came the serious stuff. We climbed past where Johnny's son was carrrying out an archaeological survey and up past Rothesay Castle. We took a right turn here, all of us together as yet. The road climbed through and out of the town. And it continued to climb. And climb. Granny gears were engaged. Even this didn't help some who were reduced to Shanks's pony long before the summit was reached and we were stretched out all over the hill. But their walking pace wasn't so much slower than those who pedalled manfully and we were together again within a few minutes of the first of us gaining the summit.
We were now on a fairly level stretch overlooking Grennan Loch. There were geese here on our last visit but there was nothing today so we kept going. And the speed was increased as the road began to drop. Robert got carried away with this speed and plunged downward, his legs turning the pedals as he tried to get even more speed. Needless to say he was first to reach the turn-off that we were to take.
This new road climbed again and Robert resumed his usual position in the middle of the pack. The fit trio of Rex, Jimmy and Paul set the pace on the up followed by Robert and Davie. Johnny tried to close the gap but failed and completed the climb in his own pain. Ian struggled likewise and brought up the rear on his own. The fit trio realised then that they were too speedy and pulled up beside an information board overlooking the Saint Ninnian's Bay to Inchmarnock Island. Rex had already mentioned this island and its part in the second world war. The information board verified Rex's story. A flock of noisy geese landed in the field below us. 'Pink-feet', said the naturalist and answered Bob's query about the name. As we stood more and more geese were spotted already grazing the field. The first large flock of the autumn and a sign that winter is on its way. A spot of rain was felt. So we left the geese to themselves and took to wheel again.
The road rose a bit yet and then dropped towards the sea. A mile or so later we stopped again to see if we could spot Johnny's seal rock. We couldn't but neither could we spot Ian. Concern was growing when the bold Ian appeared round a bend having stopped for a call of nature. A few more spots of rain came. We wheeled on. The rain came in earnest now and the fit raced for the shelter of the pub at Kingarth, stringing the group out along the road. It was Robert's fault and he admitted it.
Jimmy and Rex made the pub first followed by Paul. They managed to avoid the worst of the weather and arrived relatively dry. Robert arrived. Then Davie, dripping wet. Johnny came sometime later dressed in black waterproofs and appearing like a drookit craw, water running off him and forming puddles on the floor. But here was no Ian. Concern again. Robert and Jimmy went to look for him but only got as far as the door for the downpour suppressed there concern somewhat. Ian arrived having covered the last two miles in his own little world of pain. Though he didn't say as much, the look on his face said that he was relieved to sit on a soft chair in the dry of the pub and have lunch.
An hour and a half was taken over lunch, a leisurely lunch for a change, during which we set the world to rights once again. And during lunch the rain went and the sun broke through. The sun was shining as, well fortified by ale and burgers, we set off to cover the final four miles back to Rothesay.

The first mile of these four was uphill. It wasn't particularly steep but it was long and strung us out again. But the top came at a war memorial by the roadside and the advanced group waited again. Johnny was first to spot the rain coming in and took proper precautions. Robert led the chorus of derision for he said that the rain scudding across the sea would soon pass. Johnny wasn't as convinced as the rest and stayed waterproofed. So it was robert's fault when the rain came.
For two miles now the road fell and we looked forward to a super freewheel. Then the rain came. And it was heavy. Robert picked up the pace, it was his fault and he admitted it. Rex and Jimmy went with him and the rest were once again strung out along the road. We had thought of a visit to Mount Stewart but, given the present downpour, the fast three ran on past the entrance. It was Robert's fault - he kept the pace high. So our visit is still to come.
Rothesay was reached in a deluge. Rex and Jimmy were first to arrive having kept the pace high along the seafront and dropped Robert somewhere along here. He arrived next. Then Davie and Paul. Then Johnny. And Ian came in his usual position for the day. All of us, all that is except Johnny who had the foresight to wear waterproofs, were drookit from the knees down as puddle-splash soaked feet and legs.
But it was all Robert's fault. On the way back home on the ferry he admitted it. Since we are not quite sure what he was admitting to, we are blaming him for everything.

Bute Cycle 2 - Le tour de Bute (Alternative version)

We went for a cycle tae Rothesay,
A sociable geth’rin’ tae be,
There wis Robert and Rex and Ian and Paul,
And Johnny and Davie and me.

We raced frae the ferry wi’ fervour,
But got only as faur as the loo,
Whar twa o’ oor lot dismountit,
The Art Nouveau tiles tae view.

So we waited for Davie and Jimmy,
While the arty tiles they viewed,
Then we gethered thegither for comp'ny again,
Afore we took tae the road.

(Sorry aboot this contorted rhyme,
I think I must hae been drunk at the time.)

But first we’d tae fuel wi’ coffee
An’ biscuit or teacake or scone,
For the road, stretchin’ faur oot before us,
We kennt tae be long and rin oan.

Efter the coffee we mounted,
And gallantly took tae the road,
Oan machines o’ a dubious order,
That groaned wi’ an excessive load.

Fower hunner yairds had we covered.
An’ never a thocht o’ a stope,
An’ we a’ stuck thegither like masons,
At least tae the fit o’ the slope.

That brae seemed tae go oan forever,
But it sorted the wheat frae the chaff,
The fit reached the summit nae bother,
The weak felt the pain and got aff.

They walked tae the tap o’ the mountain,
Pushin’ their bikes at their side,
While the fit yins waited up oan the heights,
On a bit lookin’ ow'r tae the Clyde.

Noo the doon-slope wis taken wi’ gusto,
The big gears soondin’ a whirr,
The pedals were turnin’ like blazes,
An’ Robert’s wee legs were a blur.

But the speed only lasted a wee while,
For the road took an upturn again,
The fit took aff like they’re whippets,
The others succumbed tae the pain.

Rex, Paul and Jimmy (the fit yins)
Were first tae the tap o’ the hill
Where, tae wait for the ithers tae jine them,
They drew up their bikes for a while.

Robert was first yin tae jine them,
Wi' an "A wisnae trying" type pose,
Then Davie came strugglin' upwards,
Wi' the sweat dreepin' aff o' his nose.

For Johnny and Ian it wis torture,
Their legs and their erses on fire,
An' only by cursing the fit folk ,
The pair o' them got ony higher.

We stood by the roadside thegither,
Tae ease the puir buggers o' pain,
Then, wi the pair hauf recovered,
We a' took tae wheel yince again.

The rain came. We a’ charged for shelter,
Which came in the shape o’ a pub,
Said Rex, 'Noo that we're in here,
We micht as weel order some grub'.

An 'oor and a hauf tae oor dinner,
Saw the demise o' the rain,
An' fuelled wi' ale and cheese burgers,
We took tae the road yince again.

Anither brae saw us a' knackered,
Even the fit yins this time,
But still they'd tae wait at the summit,
For the walkers tae feenish the climb.

Johnny dressed up for the wather,
He waterproofed up tae the chin,
In spite o' the sarcastic comments,
For he saw the rain comin' in.

The rain came again in a doonpour,
An' boy wis it comin' doon,
'Stair-rods' disnae describe it,
An' we were three miles frae the toon.

At least the route noo lay doonwards'
It was the best bit o' the run,
But the rain comin' doon in a torrent,
Spiled the maist o' oor fun.

Still, we skelpit through dub and through mire,
The rain comin' doon in a sheet,
Water stotin' up frae the pavement,
Soakin' oor legs an' oor feet.

We came back tae Rothesay fair drookit,
In dribs an' in drabs we came in,
But nae maiter the place we feenished the race,
We were soakit richt through tae the skin.

We relaxed in the heat o' the ferry
As gently it carried us hame,
And, in spite o' the wather an' upslopes,
We resolved tae dae mare o' the same.