In 2000, me wifie and cousin and I did a hired bike tour of the best whisky 
in the world. Three miles, three distilleries. Grin. The winding costal 
road got straighter with each stop. Grin. Then we discovered that our bnb 
was the other side of the island instead of just three miles on. 
Whooof.  My bike had no tools, but the handlebars came loose in the 
headset. Bashed it back into place with a bit borrowed from one of those 
drystone walls you can see there. Jacobs sheep laughing at me through the 
whisky mist. The roads that go inland are straight, which seems mighty 
curvy after three distilleries of tasting. Grin. Scotland redefines 
headwinds. Islay redefines them yet again. Ain't nuffin' slowing them down 
from gaining speed across the Atlantic. Then they hit me and I slowed down. 
A lot. Grin.

With abandon,
Patrick

On Sunday, February 16, 2020 at 10:03:29 AM UTC-7, David Carner wrote:
>
>
> https://www.theguardian.com/environment/bike-blog/2017/aug/17/hardcore-cycling-in-almost-guaranteed-rain-scotlands-no-frills-anti-sportive
>

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