Travel Reference
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Wedidn'thangaroundverylong.Forthenexttwentymileswedidn'tstop.Notbecause
oftheDrongangangs,ofcourse.Thatwouldhavebeensilly.Simplybecausewewerekeen
to cycle as many miles as we could to make up for our paltry distance of the previous day.
We passed through the town of Tarbolton, which has some association with Robert
Burns, but decided not to stop to find out what. After our experience with Robert Burns in
Dumfries, we knew we would not be missing out.
The weather was great, we had a surplus of food, the gradient of the road was in our
favour, and Scotland was stunningly beautiful. But, there was still just one small problem:
the Falcon could not manage more than a quarter of a mile without the chain falling off.
I had become a seasoned-pro at reattaching it, but it was still incredibly frustrating. I
couldsenseBen'sangerincreasingeachtime,andhewouldalwaysmutteran'ohforfuck's
sake' or a 'here we go again' under his breath. If it happened when I was behind him, I
would try to reattach it secretly and then catch him up without him noticing. I was suc-
cessful on a couple of occasions, but most of the time he would glance back and see me
fumbling with the bike. He would then make a point of stopping to let me catch up, just so
he could mutter something like: 'I told you we should have replaced that piece of shit back
in Bath.'
'Don't listen to him,' I said, stroking The Falcon's handlebars.
'You're as messed up as your bike,' said Ben.
'Well, you're big... and... errr... big and stupid like your bike,' I said. It wasn't one of
my best comebacks.
We arrived in the village of Kilmaurs just before 6pm. The Falcon's chain had fallen off
yet again, and Ben was close to detaching it completely and wrapping it around my neck.
'Oh my god,' said Ben, 'I don't believe it.'
'I know, I know. I get the message,' I said as I tried to reattach it.
'No, I'm not talking about the bike. Look over there.'
Just across the road from us was a bike shop called Walkers Cycling.
'Would you believe it? It's a bloody bike shop. It's fate,' said Ben. 'We've got to go and
see if they can do anything about that bike. I can't go on like this.'
'Ok,' I said, 'but it's 5.55pm. I reckon it'll be closed.'
It was open. We were greeted inside by a bearded man, who looked more like a friendly
maths teacher than someone who should work in a bike shop. I explained what we were up
to, and that we were having a few bike problems, and asked if they had any tips or advice
on how we could prolong the life of The Falcon.
'No problem. I'll get one of my guys to come and take a look at it,' he said.
We were joined outside by two young mechanics who spent at least ten minutes oiling
and tweaking the rear-derailleur and chain.
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