early morning rain

After five decent days of sunshine the storm clouds gather.  It rains.  The wind blows in our faces and then it rains some more.  And then it rains again.  Each morning in our tent we awake to the sound of rain on the tent.  So much for waking with the joys of summer and the eternal sunshine of the Artic Circle.  It pisses it down.

 the view each morning looking up at the tent roof

The landscape is wonderful in clear weather - jagged mountain ridges disappearing suddenly into beautiful turquoise waters.  White sandy beaches. Wild flowers line the roads and the fields of hay stir in the breeze. 

we must remember this

 Cycling in our jackets and overtrousers is sweaty work.  Our feet get wet and our shoes never dry out.  Our glasses steam up and are coated in raindrops.  Somehow we always seem to find somewhere to shelter for lunch stops and teas.  It even stops raining when we set up our tent.  But not for long.  

And then there's the wind.  All cyclists dream of tailwinds, but now we are being blown sideways or to a standing stop by heavy gusts and headwinds.  It makes it all seem like hard work.  But the worst wind of all is the one that comes in the evening, in the tent, after the pesto and salami pasta dinner.  Now that, dear reader, is an ill wind...