Modes of Transport

In a rash of enthusiasm, given the sun this morning, his Lordship and I ventured forth on our first cycling trip of the year.
It was to be the coast road to start with and then inland after Aberlady.

The sun burned brightly, the sky was blue, the sea shone to match, white horses sparkled on the incoming tide, we had a tail wind, God was in his heaven and all was right with the world.

We were effortlessly blown along while trying to put out of our minds at the same time the toil it would be cycling back into the wind.

After a brief stop for male comfort at the five star Port Seton toilets and another one to blip the horse and rider, it was full sail to Fenton Barns near North berwick for a coffee and a gingerbread man for me.

We turned back and immediately were aware of the west wind. But no matter, his Lordship proved to be my knight in shining armour and pedalled in front to give me some relief from some of the gusts.

By Longniddry I noticed that the the sea and the sky had merged into a wall of menacing greyness, and by Cockenzie the sleet and hail hit us horizontally, stinging our eyes and faces with a freezing intensity.
The wind threatened to stop us in our tracks or blow us into the verge, but just as fast as it started, we came out of the cloud shadow into a sunny Musselburgh and then it was home to peel off wet clothes and luxuriate in a hot shower.

The only thing to put a little disharmony into the ride was the speeding motorist who thought it right to sound his horn in an aggressive manner while overtaking us, riding in single file, on an otherwise straight and empty road.
It wasn't just a little toot to indicate he was there but two full blown blasts to tell us to get out of his way.
His Lordship waved his fist at his disappearing back, but I think he was going too quickly to notice.
There are always some motorists who hate cyclists. We are all tarred with the same brush as those who refuse to obey the highway code.

Tant pis!