Border Patrol

I've been thinking about this one for a while. Last winter I did a couple of longer evening rides with a few mates, Carlisle to Edinburgh and Berwick to Edinburgh. That left me with part of the triangle to complete - the Coast to Coast. As it transpires, this is also a route I wanted to do as part of a longer term project. So, I looked at train timetables, selected a route and then waited. On a few occasions I'd dig out the plan but somehow it just never quite happened. Often it would be the weather but usually something else would pop up. With the clocks about to go back, I thought I'd better get the finger out and get on with it. Inevitably, the weather once again decided to play games with me. The first snow flurries of the winter arrived once I'd booked the hotel and train. 


Day 1
Undaunted, I was up early but really not feeling that great. Unrested, dodgy guts and a hoarse, dry throat weren't the ideal start to my day and it didn't get any better sitting on the train to Carlisle.

Leaving Carlisle station looked promising - lots of NCN stickers to follow. Unfortunately, they weren't followed up and I spent some time exploring a car park and various back streets. Eventually, I let the GPS guide me until I started to pick up the NCN7 signs again and they took me all the way to Gretna for the obligatory photo stop.

England on the left, Scotland on the right. That's irony.

This is the River Sark - the official border on the West coast and immortalized by Rabbie Burns in his song "Parcel o' Rogues".

Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands

And Tweed rins tae the ocean

Tae mark where Englands province stands

Sic' a parcel o' rogues in a nation

(I should point out, for the benefit of my English friends that they are not the rogues in this tale. That would be the Scottish gentry that sold our independence for money.)

Leaving Gretna took me to Gretna Green and the famous blacksmiths shop. In reality, I was more interested in the nearby cafe as I was, by now, gasping for my second coffee of the day. Little wonder when it was already after 11am.

Setting off again I was starting to get worried about the ride ahead of me. I was already behind schedule and I just couldn't get my riding funk on. In one way I was happy to reach Canonbie. This lovely wee town is placed just where the terrain changes from the gentle river flats to the hillier terrain we normally think of as the Borders and that was the issue. I knew that the riding was due to get a bit tougher. Is have been less concerned if the projected South-westerlies had put in an appearance instead of the bitter Northerly I was experiencing. Still, the scenery was lovely, it was dry and sunny and before too long my planned stop at Newcastleton was upon me.
There was already 3 cyclists in the cafe. Hardcore, older types with all the gear. I asked where they were heading, to which the reply was "home". Brilliant. They seemed impressed by my plans though.

I knew that there would be little chance of finding any more facilities for a while and hoped that necessity would push me on. The climb from here up to Wauchope would be the first real push of the day but it mostly went in OK. Passing the little car park at the top of the climb was an important little milestone of my trip. Up until now, all the river systems had been draining into the Irish Sea. Now, I was in the Tweed system, draining into the North Sea. This then is the Druim Alba - Scotlands Watershed. In theory, it's downhill all the way from here to Berwick. However, I knew that I had a couple of hurdles to navigate before I'd be there.

The first issue happened almost immediately. Here, on the north side of the hills, the sun hadn't got round to melting the overnight snow and I hit the first patch at some speed, trying not to panic and keep a nice gentle, curving line round the bend. I did take the precautionary measure of unclipping my feet ready for a bale-out but it proved to be unnecessary and I just took it a bit easy hitting blind spots.

Still freezing in the shade

The descent to near Bonchester Bridge was enjoyable, if a bit cold and, the climb to Carter Bar was a lot more gentle than the route adopted by the A68. I was, however, completely done in, struggling to keep it moving and watching the daylight slowly disappear. It was a feeling more of relief than pleasure that hit me when I eventually pulled in to the Border car park for another photo.

The literal high point.

My GPS told me it was now 17 miles to my hotel and, as it was already well after 4pm, I knew I would have to push on a bit to get in before dark. Fortunately, the first thing in front of me was the fast switchback descent of the A68. This took me quickly to the Hownam turn off for more little lanes away from the main road. On the way I passed over Dere Street - an ancient Roman Road and one of the very few off-road "roads" in Scotland.

This is certainly a very quiet corner of the world and as dusk descended I was keeping a count of how far it was to each farmhouse! Eventually, and after almost missing the last turn, I made it to Morebattle and the Templehall Hotel. I'd not quite needed my lights, but it was close.

Day 2
After not the best nights sleep, I awoke to see the extra hour of daylight passing by outside my window while I waited for breakfast. Obviously not as cold as yesterday had been, it was now quite damp with a light drizzle evident as I was prepping the bike for action. My first port-of-call was Kirk Yetholm which had been my original destination (had the Border Hotel not been fully booked). It's a really lovely little village and stands at the end of the Pennine Way, on the St Cuthberts Way and now also marks the start (or end?) of the Scottish National Trail too.

My self-imposed route now took me on a long, winding detour around this very pleasant little corner of Scotland, the game here being to run as close to the border as I could without crossing it or taking any u-turns. This meant I'd see signs for, e.g. Coldstream 8 miles, but I'd be heading away from them taking in extra lanes and side roads. The South Westerly that had been promised yesterday had now turned into more of a North Westerly which had me puffing a wee bit as I fought against it but once I reached Kelso and my first brush with the River Tweed, I had a fantastic blast all the way along to Coldstream. Here, the road crosses the Tweed again marking another important part of the border.

From Coldstream, I was back onto quieter roads with some beautiful old houses tucked away, large gates lodges and ornate gateways marking out some quite extensive grounds. In theory, I should have turned North after reaching Paxton but as Berwick-upon-Tweed sits astride the river where it meets the North Sea and gives its name to Scotlands most South Easterly county I thought it was only right to grant it honorary Scottish "citizenship" and grace it with my presence. It was quite a shock to suddenly see so many folk. It was still a damp day but the town was fairly heaving with both locals and tourists and I was lucky to get a seat in the Cafe Nero to enjoy a decent coffee and some hot food.


So far, I'd mostly had a relaxing comfortable ride and as I started North out of Berwick I was looking at my clock, pleased at my schedule. That didn't last long. The first problem was that my plan to follow the coastal path and avoid the A1 immediately came unstuck passing a large caravan park. The ground was rough and extremely muddy which had me slithering along. Progress at this rate would have me out another night. I therefore headed back onto the A1, taking advantage of a pavement all the way to Marshall Meadows. A quick enquiry to a local told me that the path here was even less likely to be ridable so it was back onto the A1 dual carriageway to the Border Viewpoint then off to cut through Lamberton. This left me with only 3 miles of so to get onto the Burnmouth exit towards Eyemouth. 

By now, I was beginning to feel quite tired. The headwind had picked up a little but I just didn't seem to be generating any power. This was worse when I exited Eyemouth towards Coldingham where the moor just seemed to be one long climb after another. I'd approach each bend sure that this was the last climb, only to see the road still rising in front of me. As I slowed, the daylight slowly leaked away and around 15:30 I opted to switch some lights on for safety. Eventually, I reached the top of the moor and could see a long downhill ahead of me but, more importantly, the coastline and various landmarks all the way to journeys end at Dunbar. 

I was so intent shooting down the hill, intent on making up some time, that I almost missed the GPS telling me I had a right turn to make. This was the junction for Pease Bay and as soon as I started down it, I was wishing I had actually missed the turn. Rather like one of those quaint Cornish coves, here the road dove steeply down to the sea. A ford at the bottom looked crossable but I opted for the safety of the footbridge before heading steeply back up to cliff-top level again. Cruel. 

Navigation from here couldn't have been simpler - just follow the NCN signs first along one side of the A1, then cross at Torness, then along the other side until a lane appears that takes you on a strange little detour round the back of the cement works. Of all the NCN routes I've been on, this surely has to count as one of the most bizarre!!  Finally and just as dusk was truly settling in, I made it to the railway station at Dunbar where the staff were happy to let me bring my bike into the waiting room, put my feet up and relax almost semi-unconscious until the train to Edinburgh arrived.

Like the windmills of your mind

A wee errand involving a drive through to South Glasgow saw me with a couple of hours to kill so I thought I'd head up to Eaglesham Moor for a closer look at the Whitelea Windfarm. I'd been thinking about this since sometime earlier this year when I saw that they were advertising 70km of trails suitable for mountain biking and walking. Even from the leaflet I could see that they were only really referring to the access roads used for all the windmills but I still thought it was worth checking out. 

Initial impressions were favourable. They've a lovely wee visitors centre with the usual array of coffee and snacks plus a wee shop. Showers and a bike lockup space were an unexpected bonus. They also have a hands-on "experience" area to show how the technology all works. I can see how the PR folk would love all this and there was a few school trips through while I fuelled up. It did take me back to a very similar experience I had when I was younger and we all trooped round the Dounreay Nuclear Power Station visitor centre. This time, I thought I'd avoid this bit and make my own mind "up close and personal" with the windfarm itself.

There is quite a bit of expansion work going on to the windfarm so I was told that some of the tracks (including the main spine road) were currently closed. This would severely limit how much of the windfarm I could actually get around but since I had limited time it wouldn't be an issue. The map I was given showed all the tracks and the numbers of all the towers. This meant that getting lost was next to impossible, which was handy as some of the tracks looped over the moors. 

Individually, I find the windmills quite elegant. On a mildly breezy day, their slow rotation has a somewhat soporific effect and I find it quite calming. Up close, indeed right underneath the blades, the noise was less than I'd expected. This comment was also made by some walkers I met at a viewpoint. From here, looking over the moor, I didn't find the windfarm at all jarring. If anything, I thought the array rather added to/complemented the ruggedness of the moors. From the same viewpoint, I could also see the Greater Glasgow conurbation, with the central belt sliding across towards Grangemouth and the windfarm at Climpy. 

In this setting then, it all made sense. Power-hungry customers, windy bleak moor, short transmission distance. Without going into all the finer details of the economics, if land-based windfarms are ever going to make sense, then this, surely, has to be one of the best examples. The fact that the owners are also going out of their way to promote public access can only be applauded and it's certainly worth a walk - or cycle - around for the great views out to Galloway, Arran, Argyll and the Highlands. On a clear, crisp winters day this would be a fine place to lose yourself for a few hours. 

So - if windfarms make sense here, where are they questionable? Well, I think there are still some places where they truly clash with the landscape. The occasional white tower on lower slopes of mountains can be overlooked by the tourists who flock to Scotland. Extensive farms intruding upon iconic views risk alienating these tourists and therefore the livelihood of many Scots. My current bugbears are; the Monadliath - visible from the Cairngorm National Park, Ben Wyvis - the view descending down the A9 towards Kessock is one which deserves to protected and the Loch Luichart extension - this will completely ruin the view west from the Black Isle into this rugged mountain landscape. Thankfully, people are waking up to the dangers of un-fettered expansion of land-based windfarms. Here's hoping it's not too late and we can yet maintain the correct balance.

By Klibreck and Altnaharra

Have you ever listened to the words of a song and had them so completely resonate within you that you think the song was written for you? I guess most of us will have heard some love song that reflected our feelings, but for me, there's another. It's a song about a book and the song tells of the feelings of the songwriter upon reading that book. The song and the book are both called The Summer Walkers. The book, by Timothy Neat, is about the hawkers, tinsmiths and other travelling workers who would gather themselves up each year and journey into Wester Ross and Sutherland. The song, by Runrig,  is so evocative that I bought the book and delved into it. Upon reading it, I found I was resurrecting old, long-buried memories of my own, of times when, as a child, I'd travel with my family through the highlands. I remembered we'd often see the travellers with their horses and carts on the narrow, single-track roads that were all that existed in the 1960's. My mum always called them the Tinkers. She'd look down her nose at them a bit - even though we weren't exactly what you'd call middle class. She'd call them "dirty" and make occasional references to them being somewhat less than trustworthy. 

Ironically, we were camping and travelling too and sometimes we'd spend a night or two at a quiet, unofficial campsite. My dad used to call some of these "common land". From reading The Summer Walkers I now realise that many of them were stances once used by the travelling people. The book highlights a lost culture. Although told mainly in the word of the travellers, the author had only the last remaining elderly folk to talk to and the practice has now disappeared with the customs and language almost completely lost. What we are left with today is the spectacle of "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding", nothing more than a gross distortion of what was a fine tradition.


But this is a biking blog and you're thinking "get on with it!" So, here I was with a couple of days free and a plan to make the most of the remaining longer days. I figured this would be my last opportunity to get right up north so I'd planned a nice circular route which would also be my first "century" (100 mile) ride this year. From Lairg, I'd head up to the north coast, then back down. My choice of direction was largely dictated by the prevailing wind, being an easterly. I recalled riding along the north coast last year into this same easterly and how tiring it had been, For this reason, I'd do the loop anti-clockwise.

The ride started well. Away at 9am there was little traffic. The views out to the West were hidden behind a blanket of grey cloud but a little watery sunshine was splashing my shadow onto the tarmac. It's a fairly steady climb from Lairg until past the Crask Inn where the munro of Ben Klibreck appears and then another fairly steady descent to the Inn at Altnaharra. The crosswind was strong but not overly so, but I knew I was up against it a little when I turned due East alongside Loch Naver. At least the road made some semblance of melding into the landscape so I'd get an occasional calm spell. Turning North made it slightly easier again and when I saw the end of the loch, I knew that I was at least trending downhill now to the coast.

One thing to be very careful of up this way is the lack of facilities - don't be expecting to stop for a coffee every few miles - so just before reaching my turn West I loaded up with a little food. This was just as well. Although I now had the wind behind me, the road did that great coastal thing of just climbing and descending every few miles. It was with some relief that I realised I was just a few miles from Tongue, whereupon the first heavy rain of the day hit me. I guess I should have thought myself lucky. After all, I seemed to have missed all the showers thundering through, but getting drenched just before my planned lunch stop seemed so unfair.

The bar in the Tongue Hotel was warm and cosy, with a proper fire going and I was glad to get in for a hot drink and a warm meal. The chicken pasta was great - although the portion was fairly prodigious. However, I knew that the shorter days and my lack of big rides this year meant I really had to get back on the road. I did have a slightly shorter return option available by heading down past Loch Loyal but I figured I'd stick to the original plan and headed out for Hope. This was another big climb and the wind seemed to have turned more south easterly so it wasn't helping me as mush as I'd have liked. The steep descent into Hope killed off most of the climbing effort with little reward and I then turned south onto the little unclassified road along Loch Hope. 

I'd been along here a couple of times in the past, though never to this very end of the road. The last time was for the lovely annular eclipse of May 2003 when a few mates and I had climbed Ben Hope to get the best possible view of the already-eclipsed sun as it rose. 

Annular Eclipse - 31st May 2003

That day had also seen me do me second ascent of Ben Klibreck and I recall it felt a bit novel to be on my second munro of the day and it still be breakfast time. 

Now, I was heading against an increasingly strong headwind, weaving my way across the best bits of tarmac and avoiding the often grassy strip down the centre of the road. On the way, I passed the broch at Dun Dornaigil and took a couple of photos under the very curious gaze of one of the local cows. 

Dun Dornaigil and the cloud streaming off Ben Hope

A couple of miles - and quite a bit of climbing - further on is the track leading to Gobernuisgach Lodge. This track cuts right across country and is on my "to do" list for 2013. Turning east again, I battled my way back towards Altnaharra, to be confronted by another downpour just as I reached the Inn. Without any second bidding I was indoors and drinking another coffee for a bit of warmth, passing some time with the locals and some visiting anglers. By the sounds of it, my day had at least been more successful than theirs. 

All that remained was the last big climb up past Klibreck again and then the long, steady 13 mile downhill almost all the way to Lairg where I encouraged my legs to spin a bit faster to get my days average speed up a bit. 


A long, hard day then. the wind had turned against me and my legs seemed a bit surprised at the amount of effort. However, the route was fabulous with the Sutherland landscape in the very first throes of Autumn and the roads almost deserted. On the way round my 104 mile loop, I'd passed so many of the place names contained in the song The Summer Walkers, though the "long winding shores of Loch Maree" will have to wait for another day!

Sometimes when you journey

Through the pages of a book

You're taken places beyond words

You let them speak the truth

Today I've opened treasures

That my eyes could scarce believe

They're the words of confirmation

Everything that makes me sing

Summer comes to Sutherland

And you bend the hazel bow

You harness up the ponies

And you head out on the road

By Kilbreck and Altnaharra

You journey to your rest

With the guiding might of Suliven

For the campsites of the West

And it's up by the Shin

And up by the 'Naver

And the long winding shores

Of Loch Maree

By Ben Hope and Ben Loyal

By Stack and by Arkle

The road reaches far

Now the summer is here

Now your words are not of sentiment

Shallow or untrue

But wells of living water

And from their clear deep sides we drew

The songs, the tin, the horses

This country's great and ancient wilds

Your faith in God and man and nature

And the keenness of your guile

So have you stood out on Coldbackie

At the time the sun goes down

Or up on the king of campsites

In the hills about Brae Tongue

That's when music filled your evenings

It's all so different now, this world

For you were the summer walkers

And the fishers of the pearl.

So as we close another chapter

That we label Archive Gold

Still the Conon flows each morning

And the dew falls from the sloe

But today you took me walking

Through a land that we have lost

While our children sit at websites

With no access to the cost

And it's up by the Shin

And up by the 'Naver

And the long winding shores

Of Loch Maree

By Ben Hope and Ben Loyal

By Stack and by Arkle

The road reaches far

Now the summer is here

A Change of Pace

With the shoulder injury slowly healing, I've been gradually weaning myself back on to off-road riding. Starting with smoother trails - and on the fatbike - I had worked up to some rougher stuff in the Pentlands and then took the Santa Cruz Blur out for a spin. Everything seemed to be fine, so I'd decided I'd pop down to Glentress today for a change of scenery. 

I got up, got packed and organised and then sort of stalled. No matter what I did, I just couldn't get that final bit of impetus to get me out of the door. Another cup of coffee and a brief glance out the window confirmed that the weather was still pretty much perfect and, eventually, I could think of no reason not to head off. And then things got a bit weird....

As I was driving down the A703, I realised that I was actually quite nervous and anxious. This took me aback somewhat. After all, I was only heading down to ride a bike. Then I thought about it a bit more and tried to work out what was going on. 

I recalled that my last visit to a trail centre had been Laggan, months ago. I'd not really enjoyed it. My riding was all over the place and the bike felt all strange. The latter, I discovered, was due to a snapped pivot bolt. So, maybe I was a bit nervous about having a similar experience? Then it hit me. At a trail centre, the riding is really all about getting down the hill quickly. The man-made obstacles are designed to stretch and challenge you and, even without the pressure of following riders, you can't really just bimble along - yet that's what I'd mostly been doing recently. 

There's nothing much wrong with bimbling. Attention can be focussed internally - on one's own feelings and thoughts - or you have time to take in your surroundings. Either way, the riding is very much a secondary activity. Now, I was about to change all of that and I guess I wasn't sure what to expect.

As it turned out, everything was just fine. I managed another short delay at the Peel Cafe, grabbing a roll and coffee, but once I was under way I just settled into the different vibe that the trail centre provides. The handling issues I'd experienced at Laggan had all gone and I felt I was actually hitting some of the rougher stuff as well as I ever had (I'll never be quick). When I did reach the car park again, I was both energised and relieved. I just need to make sure I don't leave it as long before my next visit.

Petrichor Summer

So. Autumn is almost upon us and we've mostly been bemoaning the lack of a summer. It certainly seems like we've had it wet, cool and windy. But there have been days, short spells when it almost seemed like a "proper" summer was going to arrive. Back in March there was that glorious week and then we had a great weekend in Aviemore for the packrafting. It all seemed so promising....

...much like my Summer has been. Having decided not to commit to any events this year, my diary was clear to be flitting around, especially once my daughters exams were out of the way and the school holidays had arrived. 

It all started so well. My tour around the West Coast was soon followed up by a long-awaited chance to ride in Harris and then a week camping with Mim - and that's what did it. Sometime during a day of paddling on Loch an Eilean and Loch Morlich, or in the loading and unloading of the kayak, I strained something in my shoulder and a couple of sleepless, painful nights ensued. Frustratingly, despite painkillers and physio, the pain is still only slowly subsiding and my ability to get comfortable on a bike has been hampered with any severe jarring being completely out of the question. 

Activities since mid-July have therefore been somewhat limited but I thought it was worth a quick summary in any case.

Glencoe
Ruling out cycling just meant more of an excuse to get out walking so Mim and I headed up to the Clachaig in Glencoe for a couple of nights. We've looked at staying here a few times but it's invariably booked. What I did find surprising - and it was most noticeable during breakfast - was the clientèle. Very few folk seemed to be of the hillwalking/outdoor fraternity and we had lots of families and older couples. For sure, it's not exactly budget accommodation these days, but it still seemed a bit out of place.

On the way up, we bagged Beinn Dorain and Beinn an Dothaidh. Mim was particularly pleased at doing the former as the long views of it and path round the bottom were still fresh in her memory from doing the West Highland Way. From the summit, we were able to pick up long stretches of the WHW both South - towards Ben Lomond - and North to Ben Nevis and it gives a great perspective on the sort of distances travelled each day when you can see it all laid out before you. 

Our second day was a bit overcast and dull looking so we took ourselves out to Ardnamurchan for a drive. I enjoyed retracing some of my recent road bike miles and pointing out some of the highlights to Mim. I actually surprised myself at the steepness and length of some of the hills, thinking that I'd not really noticed them so much when cycling. 

Our return home on day 3 was fitted around a trip to the Lost Valley (Coire Gabhail) in Glencoe. This was another first for Mim. The last time we'd tried this the river was a lot higher and we ended up on some very dodgy scree. No such problems this time once we'd navigated our way across the diversion which avoided the bridge that was being repaired. This turned out to be another lovely day - though it was, once again, raining when we got home.

The Lost Valley - Glencoe

Lake District
As if to rub salt in the wound of my sore shoulder a stag weekend down in Keswick was tom include some Ghyll Scrambling. Now, normally I'd have been all over that but I judged that pulling/being pulled by that arm was likely to result in a great deal of pain. As a result, I opted to take the Amazon down with me and to do some light on-off-roading by making use of NCN71, the C2C route.

The drive down was uneventful enough and the hostel at Denton House was basic, but clean and well sorted. Dumping all our gear and heading to the pub for food was first on our "to do" list and thankfully they were still serving dinner. I say thankfully, in actual fact the food was at te very poor end of "pub standard", even the portions were a bit meagre. At least the chips were fairly good and I availed myself of whatever anyone else deemed they didn't want. The Scotch selection was also a bit meagre, but we sampled some of that anyway and headed back to our dorm to lay into the Jura and the excellent Balvenie. I can't recall quite when we eventually turned the lights off, but I knew even then that I hadn't had the best preparation for a ride the next day. 

As it turned out, I was still fairly chipper in the morning and after a bit of prison-style breakfast I headed off on the bike and into Keswick proper. After a brief stop at a local bike shop for a multi-tool (something I'd forgotten to bring), I found NCN71 and headed off on some quiet roads. If it had stayed like that, all would have been fine, but alongside Bassenthwaite Lake the track turned into a proper "forest road" that had the Marathon tyres scrabbling for grip. I had a couple of dodgy moments with the back wheel stepping out before I opted for a bit of pushing up and through the MTB trails of Whinlatter. Back on the roads again, I made decent time all the way to the old railway line - now cycle path - taking my into Whitehaven. The only real issue I'd had up to now was the large number of C2C cyclists heading towards me and their often dodgy road-sense. The cycle path took a nice line and didn't seem to deviate in the manner that many do, so I was soon in Whitehaven for a spot of lunch, satisfied that I was now half way around my circuit. What's more, it had stayed dry, with only a cold breeze taking the slight edge off things.

Post-lunch, I located the coastal track which headed towards Workington - also confusingly NCN71 and was soon on quiet roads again to Cockermouth. This was where I had my only navigational problem of the day, with the Sustrans route weaving its way through the town. That would have been bad enough, but one section was closed and with no diversion marked I had to improvise a little. No matter - I was soon under way with the hills before me and a bit of a climb to get back to Keswick. Again, the Sustrans way of doing things caught me out a little and the small, single-track road I was on petered out at a gate. The waymarking was clear enough, I'd simply have to ride over a field. 

Yep - that's the route

That turned out to be fine but when the route entered the forest above Bassenthwaite Lake again I'd have been a lot happier on a mountain bike. Whoever thought of sending road bikes along here needs some serious talking to. Playing the safety-first card again and mindful of the stress to which I was subjecting my wounded shoulder I again opted to walk. Now, it's bad enough having to push up-hill, but walking a bike downhill just isn't the done thing!

All in all, a mostly great experience of a Sustrans route and that's a little surprising to me having issues with some more local ones I know. Perhaps that's just it - as a tourist the routes work really well. The roads are quieter and there are few navigation difficulties with the very clearly marked NCN signs removing the need to refer to map and GPS. It certainly showed that my concerns about Lake District roads being overly busy were mostly unfounded and, based on my experiences, I'd even consider the whole English C2C at some point.