washing your dirty laundry in public

People sometimes tell us how brave we are.  It's not a characteristic I often think of, but it crosses my mind as I walk into the mens' toilets at the service station.  It's Sunday lunchtime and the place is busy with people on the road.  We've had a great ride this morning, with the sun out and a big blue sky and a blustery wind on our backs pushing us southwards. It's been fairly effortless, but now the road turns northwards, back up along the other side of the inlet towards Holmavik.  We think we're due a break.  Inside Gayle catches up on uploading her photos to Flickr while I use the available hot water to wash down all the dirt accumulated on the bikes while we crossed through the highlands.  In one rainy afternoon they got caked in mud and grit.

Now I'm standing at the sinks washing my socks, boxer shorts and a t-shirt.  There's a handy soap dispenser and those Dyson hand dryers that blow the water up your sleeves, no matter how careful you are.  Small boys and old men look at me out of the corner of their eyes as they come to wash their hands.  But I remain unashamed.  I'm out and I'm proud.  I'm cycling.  I'm allowed to do this kind of thing. I'm washing my dirty laundry in public. 

"These sinks are for hand-washing only" - the sign is in English only.  Presumably the locals don't come here to shave or catch up on the laundry.  I'm not being brave.  I'm just having to shake off my natural inhibitions.  My parents didn't bring us up to do this kind of thing.  Mind you, I'm sure my mum'd be happy I'm wearing clean underwear.

another quality stop courtesy of N1 services

We sit outside at a bench to have lunch and meet Alice from England, cycling in the opposite direction.  Tereza and Jakob arrive.  Tereza looks happy to see us but also a bit peaky.  Jakob explains that she's not feeling well.  We're surprised that they've been behind us.  The last time we saw them was before the heavy rain in the highlands.  They tell us how they managed to outrun the rain.  They've since been around one of the peninsulas we've just crossed - and they've had to fight this northerly wind for two days.  Now Tereza just wants to sleep - their hard riding is catching up on her.  We follow them northwards up the coast and wave to Jakob when we pass their campsite for the evening.  We push on a bit further and then drop down to a river that has carved out a gorge in the land.  It takes us out of the wind.  There are nesting birds nearby that get a bit annoyed with us  and the sheep also look a bit disgruntled at our appearance.  Tough - we have some shelter and we're not budging. 

the bridge was long gone