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).