A restless night, with the tents rustling and flapping noisily as they felt the force of the strengthening winds. We woke to find ourselves the only campers left on the site (apart from those singular folk in their camper vans). It felt like time to leave.
Daf rose feeling well enough to do the 12 miles from Silverdale to Oxenholme, where we were to catch the train up to Glasgow, and then back down to Lanark.
It was an uneventful journey: the sky damp and grey; the wind roaring through the trees like an angry wave breaking ceaselessly on a shore.
Oh, we did bump into a chap who’d cycled across the whole of Mongolia; which, while inspiring, did make us feel rather like rank amateurs.
Catching a train felt peculiar, a bit like breaking some sort of magical spell. The landscape we would have seen from our bikes sped past like a film on fast forward.
When we got off the train at Lanark though, the wind was far stronger, gusting hard enough to push our bikes sideways across the road, and keeping off the road for the duration seemed like a wise move.
We booked in at the hostel at New Lanark for a couple of nights.
New Lanark was a cotton mill village, founded in 1785 by social pioneer Robert Owen, providing decent homes, fair wages, free health care and education forthe villagers. Good work Robert. The village has been restored as a living community, and is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
We’re also right by the Falls of Clyde, which should be looking great after all the recent rain.
Not a bad place to take shelter then, all in all.