It is surreal to be at the end of our journey through England, Wales, and Scotland as the UK and world mourn and pay tribute to Queen Elizabeth II.

Announcement of Queen Elizabeth II’s death came just 24 hours after we celebrated the end of our bike journey. The end of our trip in the highlands of Scotland is not far from Balmorel, in Aberdeen, Scotland, where the Queen finished her 70 year reign. Her grace, resilience and equanimity during her lifetime of leadership is truly extraordinary.

We finish this trip on a remarkable week: the Queen’s historic reign ending, King Charles III’s reign beginning, and new Prime Minister Liz Truss confirmed by the Queen just a few days ago. Long love the Queen …and long live the King.

Standing in John O’Groats, a tiny village at the tip of Scotland, looking across the pounding North Sea on a day when headwinds gusted to 25mph, we felt enormous humility and gratitude. So many wonderful people. So much rugged beauty. So much history.

We pedaled 1,100 miles, climbed 72,688 feet, and saw just as many sheep.

This trip was full of laughter, massive amounts of calories, more ups than downs (literally), and friendship. But as with every story, there are at least two sides. Barb, Jo, Kathy, and Cindy may have something to say about that.

On the second day of this journey in the south of England, I stopped for the umpteenth time and stared at the sign posts pointing down winding lanes to names of villages I didn’t recognize. The tiny lanes zigged and zagged between tall hedges. A woman, taking a break on her porch, cigarette in hand, called out in response to my “good morning and we are lost!: “Dear, this isn’t Route 66, you know!” and she was right. We haven’t had a straight road in about 1000 miles—until today! Our penultimate day, we pulled out of Lairg (a town about 50 miles from the north coast), pointed our bikes north on a single lane path, and besides pulling over for the occasional car, truck, and motorcycle and work crew, we enjoyed wide open vistas for nearly 45 miles and didn’t turn again until shortly before we reached our inn, located on the dunes of the North Sea.

One more day pedaling along the north coast to our final destination in John O’Groats. Happiness is seeing this part of the world (and straight roads).

Cycling through Scotland is to be surrounded by shades of green and alternating blue, gray, and violet sky. From the lakes (lochs), we biked up into the mountains to a pass with the lovely name, “Rest and be thankful.” We were especially thankful that the highway maintenance crew held traffic so we could safely ride up the pass on the single lane without cars whizzing past.

A surprise sunny day in Glasgow earlier this week where a friendly Scotsman took our photo on one of many eclectic bridges crossing the River Clyde. We miss Kathy who is on the mend after an unpleasant fall injured her ribs. As she would likely point out, it also resulted in an early release from the hills of Scotland. She is healing, but of course, not resting, as she is preparing for another bike trip in Nova Scotia taking the high road again! Thank you Michele Obama (was she thinking about The Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond?).

We entered Scotland on Monday night looking for a proper pub with music. No luck. Music is on Thursday’s in the “wee bonnie tooon” (town) of Moffat. We though we would settle for a green salad after our bread- and chocolate-fueled days. We ordered prawn salads. Here is the recipe: Scoop a “wee bit” of mayo- say two cups per serving -and add a generous fistful of tiny prawns. Coat until you cannot find the prawns. Mound on top of a few pieces of lettuce and decorate with two beet slices. Then take a “wee bit” of mayo – at least two more cups – and stir in some shredded cabbage. If you can see anything that resembles shredded cabbage, add more mayo. Mound onto the “salad” ensuring you leave a tiny green center. Raise your glass of local beer or hard cider with a hearty wish of Ith gu leòir! (Scottish Gaelic for bon appetit!)

At our Scottish breakfast this week, we asked Kiernan, our teenage waiter to explain an item on the menu new to us. We asked, “What are oat cakes?” Kiernan replied, well… oatcakes are… well…oatcakes.” Cindy queried, “So, are they pancakes”…”No. They are not pancakes.” “So, are they good?” (Conversation was flagging at this point…) Kiernan conceded, “They are not particularly popular.” I ordered them. They were two round discs with the consistency – and taste – of a cardboard bike box. I will not order these again!

Cindy stopped to ask these blokes (Buddy and Billy) for directions. She came back with a wee bottle of Glenlevit scotch. They obviously thought she needed a lot more than directions to finish this trip.

Food, glorious food (and drink)! Definitely not gruel.

* Thanks to Lionel Bart, British creator and composer of Oliver!

In the busy market town of Bigger, Scotland, (this means there is more than a church, pub, and village store), between the green hills of Bloughton and the green hills of Thankerton, we met a group of mates/blokes/chaps getting ready for an afternoon bike ride. They were chatty and friendly and I asked them the question I have asked several mates/blokes/chaps who interchangeably refer to each other with these jaunty nouns. How do you refer to people who are not men? One immediately said, “My wife is a lady.” Not suggesting otherwise, I pushed on. One bloke, after a thoughtful pause said, well you could say “lass” and another, looking at Jo and me said, “well if you stretch it a bit…” I took that as a compliment.

We came upon a statue in the tongue-twister town of Ecclefecham heralding their local claim to fame, Thomas Carlyle. The description of his life does not even once refer to him as a bloke, mate, or chap. He was a CRITIC OF LETTERS.

Although Thomas Carlyle kicked around quite a bit in his career —he thought about being a minister and a lawyer – and ultimately was an “essayist, satirist, historian, teacher, and critic of letters…,” he had purpose. He wrote, “A person with a clear purpose will make progress even on the roughest road. A person with no purpose will make no progress, even on the smoothest road.”

Smooth roads are definitely overrated.

When not stopping to fix tires (tyres), or meet the locals, we are riding. And riding. And riding. Past sheep and more sheep, and cows and more cows, and green and more green. Scotland is spectacular.

The “romantic poets” were inspired by the lush landscape of Westmoreland, Yorkshire, Cumbria and surrounding counties. The last several days’ green hillsides (emphasis on hills) seem exactly as Wordsworth would have viewed them- just not from a bike!

Just as we were about to hop on our bikes after our castle exploration, this Tractor Parade emerged from a side road with nearly 200 tractors of every size shape and color imaginable. We were very glad not have been in front of them!

We are not far from Liverpool and the Beatles’ heartland. The Beatles (John Lennon) wrote Rain “about people who are always moaning about the weather all the time.” I like rain. The actual thing. And I also like the Beatles song. Each morning, when we poke our heads out of our B&B, the light mist and puddles that greet us seems perfectly lovely for a ride in the UK.

Castles and pubs. We have seen our fair share of both!

Rain is always followed by sun— even in the UK! Today we hollered the Beatles’ Here comes the Sun!

When I imagined this trip with its “civilised” mileage averaging just over 50 miles/day, I thought we would have heaps of time to stop at cute little cafes, enjoy cream teas (tea+scones+jam+thickly spread buttery cream) and roll into our quaint B&Bs in mid-afternoon with time to stroll through the village. Not on your life. So far we are averaging less than 10 miles per hour, with as much time standing with our bikes leaning on farm gates, wondering if we go left or right at the horse, sheep, or cow. The good news of this slow pace, is that it is easy to soak in the landscape.

Each morning, we leave right after our English breakfast (or bowls of yogurt after one too many fat sausage, thick slab of bacon, pile of baked beans, fried toast, tomato, and egg). We determine which way is north, and begin to hunt and peck our way, cycling on lanes that most often are the width of a small car that doesn’t mind scratch marks.

We feel victorious when we arrive at our evening accommodation in 10 hours. Some inns are lovely, while others offer local color like the one in Wales literally located across from “booze corner” (Welsh for pub)?!

My friends and I were charmed by our southern friend, Cindy, who rides a trike with a jaunty flag and says y’all even in England. She proposed this trip to our group. The five of us from five different US states met on our cross-country bike trip in 2014. This time we are riding 1,100 from the bottom to the top of the UK over 22 days (with two rest days), carrying our gear, attempting to follow a route through small Villages, and staying in Bed & Breakfasts.

We are better in our second act, not taking ourselves too seriously. But when we all said, YES, we certainly didn’t know that Cornwall and Devon are England’s Rocky Mountains!

Cindy said that the LEJOG ride is famous. The four of us (and likely most everyone reading this) have never heard of this route, first walked by some blokes in the late 1800s. Since then, all sorts of people (Brits mostly) have done it, some naked! Given the temps, we don’t expect to become the next Calendar Girls (originally Yorkshire women who made a name for themselves as feisty philanthropists by delicately positioning flowers over their bodies, in a page-turning calendar that raised LOTS of money for a local cause).

One local woman upon hearing that Cindy was our impetus for this particular ride said, “Let’s hope she doesn’t get a hankering to swim the English Channel!”

My colleague, Joe Coughlin, director of the MITAgeLab, recently published an article in Forbes magazine highlighting research that demonstrates that socialization is good for one’s health— and that women have perfected this healthy behavior.

So here we are eating Nutella sandwiches, laughing, and hoping that we will still be laughing after 22 days when we arrive in northern Scotland.

Always on the lookout for signs that make me smile, I wasn’t disappointed on today’s ride from Tiverton to Cheddar. After climbing ANOTHER mountain (17 % grade) we swooped down into farm country.