Following the original coaching route to Scotland for his new book, our writer enjoys a more evocative journey brimming with history
As any cyclist will tell you, there’s something strangely uplifting about being on the road early. Mostly it’s a case of enjoying empty roads and morning light, but perhaps there’s a smidgeon of self-righteousness, too. Mamils have a lie in? Never. As we wheel our bikes out of the Olde Ship in the village of Seahouses, nothing seems to be moving. With a gentle westerly blowing in from our left, we pass the deserted crazy golf course, shout good morning to a lone dog walker and head north close to a lazy expanse of sand dunes.
