Page 31 of A Summer of New Beginnings
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The following morning, after she had typed up her notes on her tablet that had charged overnight, she joined the Daughters of Anarchy, as they had now become ironically known, for a breakfast of Carrie’s special porridge and honey. That woman could cook and Zara was going to really miss the food she made. The friends sat around chatting and laughing just as they had the night before and Zarawas once again reminded how accepting they had been.
Once she was showered and dressed it was time to wrestle with the tent again. Only this time she had an audience. She just got it twisted into the right size and shape when someone shouted, ‘Yeah! Go, Zara!’ and it pinged out again, meaning she had to start over. She forced down a scream and string of expletives as she ended up cramming itback into the bag any which way it would fit, and in the process she inadvertently tripped over the bike and chuntered at it again as if it were a living being.Yup, losing it.
Once she was packed up ready to leave she went to say her goodbyes. Each of her new friends hugged her and reminded her what an amazing thing she was doing and how strong she was. Mobile numbers were swapped and assurancesmade that they would all keep in touch. Joan even tried to convince her that she should buy a motorbike and join them on their next jaunt.
Zara laughed. ‘I don’t exactly have a lot of balance on Silver Dickhead so I’m not sure handing me something bigger with an engine is a great idea.’
Laughter erupted. ‘I can’t believe you named your bike something so derogatory. It’s hilarious.’
‘And apt,’Zara pointed out. More hugs ensued and she said goodbye before mounting SD once more.
With her faith in humanity firmly restored Zara set off on the next leg of her journey. An approximately seventy-mile coastal trek lay ahead of her. It would include the Kylesku bridge and would then take her on to the day’s destination, Kinlochbervie. She was relieved that her companions had been sensible aboutthe amount they drank as cycling this route with a hangover would have been an added nightmare.
Thanks to the many hills on this particular part of the route, Zara made the most of the stops along the way. The road took her through the Highlands geopark. Who knew that rocks could be so fascinating? There were explanation boards on some of the stops and she made notes again to include in her article.The way she was going she might need the whole magazine to showcase what she had experienced – this in itself was a massive surprise to her and it was only day four of her cycle.
Her dad was a Kiss fan and her song for the day was aptly ‘Rock and Roll All Nite’. Although, she didn’t know all the words so just mumbled and sang the tune in the bits she couldn’t remember. She did, however, makesure to sing extra loud on the choruses, seeing as she was on the road alone; she decided it was probably a good thing she was taking the trip solo as no one would want to put up with her caterwauling.
Thirty-five or so miles in – although it felt like a hundred – the singing hadn’t helped her tiredness. She was more out of breath than ever so she stopped for a break and a bite to eat at a prettyfishing village. A mixture of whitewashed and granite buildings lined the water and she found a little bistro that served food and hot drinks. The view from the window was once again one that she would treasure. The early afternoon sunlight glinted on the water as it rippled with the slightest breeze.
‘Are you all by yourself, hen?’ the waitress asked as she placed down the steaming mug whosearoma made Zara’s mouth water.
‘I am, yes. North Coast 500 for a work project.’ She’d expected that she might have been fed up of explaining herself by now, but it hadn’t happened as yet.
‘Aye, we get lots of folks doing the same. Rarely do we get a woman on her own though. You’re a brave wee soul.’ That seemed to be the general consensus of opinion about her trip.
Zara shrugged. ‘I don’t mindit really. I can go at my own pace without annoying anyone.’ She smiled.
The woman leaned forwards. ‘Aye, well, here you go. A wee piece of flapjack for your next snack stop. Full of syrup and oats so not great for the waistline but essential for energy.’
The flapjack smelled tantalising and looked delicious with its golden brown colour that was slightly darker at the edges, just how she likedbaked goods. ‘Oh wow, thank you so much. What do I owe—?’
‘Och, nothing, hen. On the house. I own the place so it’s no bother.’
Zara smiled warmly, once again surprised by the kindness of strangers. ‘Thank you. I’ll look forward to eating it.’
Once she was refuelled and had typed up more notes on her tablet, she packed her things into her backpack and left, waving another thank you to the owner,who smiled and wished her lots of luck and good weather. She glanced at her watch and realised she had perhaps stayed a little too long in the comfort of the bistro with its friendly owner and welcoming atmosphere.Par for the course, I suppose, when everyone is so relaxed. It rubs off on you…
Tackling more miles of rugged coastline that afternoon, Zara couldn’t wait to climb into her bed fora rest. At one point she pulled over onto a rough patch of grass and just stood, staring out at the white sandy beach beneath her, catching her breath. Could she maybe get down there? It would possibly put her even further behind schedule but it would be worth it. She fastened her lock round her bike and laid it on the grass before locating a very narrow path that descended through craggy rocks andfinally reached the dazzlingly clean sand.
She sat on one of the rocks and inhaled a deep breath, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat that was pounding from the descent. She had taken her map with her so she could figure out which of the beaches she was on; that way she could take photos and add it in to her article. She pulled the map out and examined the knotted spaghetti of road networksthat circumvented the coastline and turned the map every which way but couldn’t quite figure out which beach it was. A man walking his dog was throwing a tennis ball from a long plastic catapult and she jogged over to him.
‘Excuse me! Could you tell me which beach this is, please?’ she asked, out of breath as she reached him.
‘Aye, it’s the beach by Clashnessie. Pretty, eh?’ The man smiled.
‘It’s gorgeous. Thank you for your help.’ She jogged back to where she had left her helmet and the map and scrutinised it once again. She wasn’t exactly off her route but she was behind schedule. To add insult to injury she had a stitch in her side so sat a few moments longer waiting for the pain to ease. A sudden, unexpected gust of sea breeze whipped the map out of her hand and took it flying acrossthe rocks.
‘Shit! Shit, shit shitty shit!’ She clambered after it but it kept fluttering off as the wind increased. When she eventually grabbed it, the map was torn and wet from where it had landed in a rock pool. Why the hell hadn’t she brought a spare one?Stupid Zara.Her stitch had worsened from running and she had difficulty clambering back up the rocks to Silver Dickhead. Thankfully… ornot… it was still there. She took off the lock and tried to cycle but the pain in her side grew worse so she got off and walked steadily for a few hundred yards until it became far too dangerous to go any further on the hairpin bend that lay ahead.
She stopped again on another smaller grass verge and doubled over, willing the pain to subside. After what felt like an age, she lifted her wristto find that her schedule had run away from her. She needed to get back on the road if she was going to reach her designated campsite before darkness fell. She pulled out her phone to check for signal in case she had to give in and call for help.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
‘Ugh, you’re well and truly on your own now,’ she informed herself aloud – she had discovered during her trip that talking toherself made her feel less lonely and that fact alone was worrying. With a huff and a wince she climbed back on the bike and chuntered at it, ‘I bet if you could you’d be laughing at me right now, wouldn’t you? Yeah, well, you’renot… so… piss off. Oh God, I’m doing it again. I’m talking to a bloody bike.’ She began to pedal steadily, trying not to over-exert herself, whilst also being very muchaware that her map was next to useless until it dried outandthat finding her campsite was going to be tricky.
Several miles on and the roads had quietened to nothing. It was an eerie feeling to be the only person on the winding road and nerves began to dance in her stomach.Just keep going. Just keep going,she repeated over and over in her head.But what if it’s appendicitis? I could die outhere all by myself. Oh, God, this isn’t helping.
