Whatever that means
Since we decided to stop at the hotel for another night, we got the bike out and had a wee pootle along the Caledonian Canal. It has to be said, Highland Council have done f*%&; all to try to make the Canal a pleasant place for a bit of a cycle. We set off down one scrubby and unkempt bank, hoiking Ellen’s trailer over locked gates and squeezing it through ridiculously narrow openings until we reached this bit where the path just ends. So, after a wee seat and some quick-draw banana shoot-outs, we went back along the other (better) bank until it gets into Inverness, where we failed to find a cup of tea anywhere but the frankly grim and barely tolerant Clachnaharry Inn. And even then the tea was beer. Still, it was a pleasant wee run and we stumbled across an amusing, half-arsed troupe doing a historical walk along the locks telling stories about Thomas Telford and the building of the canal and joking among themselves.