On the 7th day, providence rested. Team ChainLUBE, pilgrims that we are, gave our rubbers (bikes) a deserved rest on our 7th day of our tour correspondingly. Quite how liberating a day of awaking without immediate compulsion to sit on an unforgiving pedalled vehicle cannot quite be corresponded. One lacks the lexicon.
And rest was accomplished. Dame Kartholemew was recruited for her hostessing facilities in her majesty’s fine province of Glasgow and this was done. We began our recuperation as the sun skirted high in the sky and beat furiously upon its subjects, at a massage parlour arranged by our good host. “What kynda massaaage were yers intereested en?” enquires the accommodating masseuse. Rafe and I are stumped and look upon each other helplessly. “I’ll de yees teen minates un yer back and twenteh on yer leegs.” We process and translate and reply affirmatively a few minutes later. Rafe is led expertly into the room and the door is closed. And then silence. I await attentively outside toying with the idea of stating that “things are looking up,” and resign myself to the opinion that this is not the best or most appropriate of ideas.
The afternoon is lazed away with a fine picnic in the still heat of Glasgow, where our bellies are filled once again with the most plentiful of feasts. A striking number of young mothers push their children about the park talking amongst each other absently and runners stumble over themselves to run literal rings around one another. In the evening we amble into the centre of the city to conversate further over drinks. Education, human social behaviour and ‘The Game’ are discussed at length and Kartholemew very literally spits out her drink at the unsavoury suggestion that women are very predictable. This reaction had not been anticipated however. We are weary but content when we finally arrive home. As we struggle up the stairs to the flat I pass my bike in the stairwell. It says nothing. I say nothing back. Carlisle, England and 95 miles tomorrow.