I'm no paedophobe, but I'm quite relieved that the children are back at school. This is partly down to the scarcity of B&Bs and campsite pitches during the holidays. But mostly it's because I'm fed up with feeling like the Man Who's Come To Do Terrible Things To Your Kiddies.
Imagine the scene: there you are, enjoying the carefree nature of a family camping holiday, kids running around, free, innocent, climbing trees, frolicking, playing with all the other children on the family-friendly site.
Suddenly, a middle-aged man arrives. He's wearing Lycra. He's holidaying alone, alone! On a bicycle. And hey presto! In the time it takes to pitch my little one-man tent the kiddywinkies have been ushered inside quicker than if the childcatcher had been spotted on the edge of town.
Explanations are sought. Needed. A father approaches, casually.
"All right, mate?"
"Good, thanks."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm cycling around Britain."
"For charity?" This is always the next question. I'm becoming increasingly convinced that if Scott or Columbus or Hannibal were facing a tribunal of 21st-century Brits, they'd be asked the same thing.
If I say yes, they offer me money. If I say I'm doing it just for the hell of it, this only confuses people further. So I tend to say it's the result of a stupid bet or the fulfilment of a lifelong dream, and then everybody can breathe easier and the kids can be released.
The mother of one nice family I met subsequently emailed me. "I'm a bored housewife," she wrote, "who's very broadminded and not easily shocked. Fancy some email fun?"
"For charity?" I was tempted to write back. But didn't, consoled at least by the thought that things are rarely as they seem and that none of us can truly explain what we are doing and why.
I rode along the Ayrshire coast, the magnificent muffin-shaped island of Ailsa Craig seemingly acting as a pivot point as I swept around the wide bays, a quick loop around the Stranraer peninsula and then along the bank of the Solway Firth, indented with sandy coves and estuaries. For the first time in nearly two months I could see England, the hills of the Lake District rising in the distance, shimmering across the water like some mystical Avalon. I felt a tad emotional. Which was ridiculous, of course, but idealised and sentimental notions of home burn brightly. And somehow, when you have travelled every yard under your own steam, the sense of journey is magnified a thousand-fold.
I stopped off at Gretna Green. Outside the blacksmith's shop a couple emerged through the archway where they were showered with confetti by their two guests. In the car park, other wedding parties were clustered, waiting for their turn to enter the smithy and have their nuptials confirmed over the anvil. Surrounding them were white carriages drawn by white horses, black carriages drawn by black horses, pipers in full regalia, pink stretch limousines, dogs in waistcoats, people in 1920s fancy dress. It was kitsch central, like a wedding fair organised by footballers' wives. Presumably somebody else who was in the car park that day is telling his friends about the man who turned up to his wedding on a bicycle. Dressed in Lycra. On his own
I got lost in the back streets of Gretna, looking for the little road that runs south, parallel to the M6. I asked a man out walking his dog for directions. He scratched his head and thought for a while. "You go down to the roundabout ... Have you eaten?"
"Erm, no."
"There's a great chip shop there if you're hungry."
"Thanks."
"Then you turn right, past the 'Welcome to England' sign... Have you got your camera? You wouldnae want to miss that."
"I have, yes."
"Well after that you follow the road ... Have you been to Carlisle before? There's a great castle and a cathedral ..."
"No I haven't. Thanks."
"And you keep going until ... Have you anywhere to stay? There's a cheap B&B just by the station ..."
And as I eventually got away, and cycled past the sign saying "Haste ye back" I realised that, summed up in that final conversation, is what I will remember most about Scotland.
Miles this week 250. Total miles 2,955
Contact visitscotland.com/perfectday
