RIP pedal

The day started inauspiciously, despite Alison giving us a larder full of cake and cookies to take with us, to add to all her other generosity to us over the last two nights. It was immediately apparent that Tom's bike had more problems, this time with a rubbing mudguard that we couldn't put right, other than by throwing it away. No sooner had that been done than the pedal failed again. Yep, you're way ahead of us: closest bike shop, this time in a very dodgy part of East Kilbride.  However, it was an exercise in not judging a place by appearances. The owner, like every single shop we've been in, dropped everything to help, and he gave the bike a totally comprehensive service and refused to take more than £10 because it was a charity ride. As part of this, he fitted a new crankshaft. The old one, the source of our woe, was thrown away before we could take a picture for the blog. Sorry.  For the last 15 minutes or so, another customer came in and was
chatting and listening with keen interest and he spontaneously bought a new pedal and toeclip set for Tom. It's typical of the experience we've had on this trip, always seeing the best side of people. So now nothing of the original pedal set remains. A fresh start.

It's all downhill into Glasgow from East Kilbride. You learn far more about the city riding through its pot holed eastern suburbs through the rain than you ever would by promenading up and down Buchanan Street.

Right through the centre of the city along Argyle Street, stopping briefly for lunch, and then it's out along the Dumbaton Road, through Partick, the university district and Kelvingrove and out towards Clydebank. (Apolgies for the abrupt change of tense - should have thought about such stylistic matters before starting. Shame runs deep.)

We leave the interminabe Dumbarton Road to cycle along the Forth and Clyde Canal, part of the National Cycle Network, but not before cycling past a bike shop without stopping. YES! At last.

Slight detour to take in Dumbarton Castle because we have loads of time in hand. However, we are ambushed by a puncture. We could name and shame the unlucky bike concerned, but somehow we don't think we need to...