My first proper holiday in well over a year started with a relaxing train ride up from London during the afternoon, so I had the benefit of wonderful scenery, particularly north of Newcastle when the tracks hug the Northumberland coast with views of the slate grey North Sea pounding the beaches and weather beaten castles interspersed on promontories and headlands. On arrival in Edinburgh I dug out my ski jacket - essential kit in late May for us soft Southerners. There wasnt a kilt in sight so maybe this years summer is so cold that even the hardy Scots have decided to keep their Crown Jewels protected from the biting north wind.
The Scottish lassies, on the other hand are made of sturdier stuff. Their legs were on display from arse skimming mini skirts down to their precipitous needle pointed stilettos, on which they lurched across the greasy cobble stones. I would have liked to see how successful their progress would be at the end of a Bacardi and coke fuelled night, but I was going to be tucked up in bed a long time before they headed for home.
I couldnt help but notice that bare in two hues. Some, typically the skinnier variety, are orange as though their owners have spent the lockdown soaking in baths of Irn Bru. Others are anaemic slabs of flesh, like joints of raw pork in the butcher shop hoping to appeal to the less discerning (I.e. blind drunk) punter with a voracious appetite. One thing all the lovely lassies had was sparkling, shimmering makeup applied in ladles. Their eyelids were weighted down by fake eyelashes batting laboriously at half mast like a ravens damaged wings. And that was at the beginning of the night....
Well good luck to them. They have just emerged from a year of hibernating in a cocoon with just their families and social media so I hope they ensnare one of the boys circling central Edinburgh in marauding packs, already tanked up and ready for action.
I digress. Meanwhile I laboured the few blocks to my hotel laden down by a heavy backpack and pushing my bike. On arrival I was told that no bikes were allowed inside, and definitely not in the rooms, and could
I please leave it on the street while I checked in (I had no lock). Huh?!!!! Are you flipping kidding? Ok ok I did forget to check with the hotel, but still.... So I threw a wobbly. It got the desired result. I was told that we could pop it into the secure parking garage before we did the check in procedure, so this we duly did.
Once ensconced in my high tech, very white room (now I get why they werent going to make an exception for my grubby, oily bike) with a massive TV, electronic adjustable bed and choice in shade of light to provide the desired ambience, I tried out every knob and control and then set about planning the next few days of my trip. I popped out briefly for supper somewhere away from the carnage that was evolving on the main schleps, before retiring to bed and TV pretty early (gawd havent I gotten to be so old....?!)
Early to bed, early to rise! What a glorious morning too. The sun was out, the Arctic wind had subsided and the city was virtually
empty. There was a certain amount of detritus from the night before, with half drunk beer bottles and the odd splattering of puke, but no bodies in the gutter (too cold to sleep it off outside, I guess, before lurching home clutching a hammering head trying to piece together how the wheels had fallen off the night before).
I set off in the direction of Arthurs Seat in Hollyrood park - nice and easy to find as it is a flipping massive hill a few miles out of central Edinburgh. It seemed to be set up with a good road bike route around the base (with a bit of a climb) and then various hiking trails up to the top. There were a few others around - mainly dog walkers, a few tourists and then intermittently some trail runners scampering across the loose rocks like mountain goats.
