And not just psychologically.
On Saturday, we went for a quick 22 mile spin, and as usual I had extra weight in the form of water in my panniers. Plus I'd pigged out on an almond croissant that morning, so was well loaded and larded up. We were cycling along the coast near Portobello, and I was congratulating myself on having pumped Ewa's tires up nicely that morning (quiet there, at the back), when there was an enormous bang. Ewa's first thought was that I'd been killed in a drive-by, but mercifully it was just the sound of my overloaded inner tube exploding.
On Sunday we did the last sizeable ride before we go - 67 miles out to Biggar and back. We had lunch at the Elphinstone Hotel, and eavesdropped on some Americans (darn, if only I'd had my stickers) discussing the toilets:
"They're a bit old and need of refurbishment, but they don't smell."
"Like us."
We hastened to reassure them that any unpleasant smells were coming from us.


