Old blokes bike tour of the Southern Hebrides

A soggy morning on Arran

I have always loved cycling, its just that I haven't actually done much of it for almost 50 years. But the weight was refusing to shift and for the first couple of years of retirement I wasn't feeling particularly fit even after quite a lot of walking. Action was needed! So I contacted cycling pal Geoff and sought some advice on the purchase of a suitable touring bike with which I envisaged doing some 'adventures'. I also asked for advice on The Motley Fool's Cyclists Corner. Of course the advice conflicted, but in the end I got myself a Giant SCR 3.0 road bike and added mudguards, a pannier rack, and some clip in pedals.

Geoff and I shared several adventures last year when he accompanied me on my boat, in the Solent, down to the West Country and across to France. Back in the 60s we had been apprentices together sharing a love of cars and jazz. But Geoff had emigrated to Canada where he had developed a passion for flying and returned to England to fly as a British Midland pilot. During this time I had lost contact with him, and it was only a couple of years ago that we met again at an apprentices reunion. On hearing my interest in bikes, Geoff, who has done an 'end to end' ie Lands End to John O'Groats, suggested that we make a gentle 35 miles a day tour of the Southern Hebrides to get me going. For about 3 weeks I trained for the trip cycling the Chilterns and the downs of South Oxfordshire. A lot of puffing and wheezing took place and a very sore bottom made the decision that the Giant's ultra slim arse splitting saddle had to make way for a wider model with nice jelly cheeks. This did the trick. Full of optimism it was off up North, with a tube of Savlon and the bike in the back of the car.

We started in Helensbugh near Geoff's home in Rhu, taking an old puffer across the Clyde to Gouroch and set off on the road south along the coast for Ardrossan, a first leg of about about 24 miles. Quite soon I spotted a cycle path with nice little blue Sustrans signs and bollards. It was actually a converted pavement. The traffic was quite heavy so the prospect of cycling on a purpose built path was very attractive, at least it was until you got onto it! The first thing I noticed was the vibration, the ex-pavement wasn't anything like as flat as the road, it was a series of ridges interspersed with potholes and patches. Obviously the council don't place a high priority on cycle path maintenance. The next problem was masses of stones and grit all over the path, no doubt swept there by the passing traffic. So after 200 yards we gave up on that very expensively created path, and it was back to the very smooth clean road surface and to hell with the traffic. It was a fairly flat route with a short stop at Largs for a sandwich on the sea front. Then on to the Caladonian Macbrayne ferry for the 2 hour journey to Arran. On the whole trip we actually made 7 CalMac crossings of various stretches of water from 1/2 hour to 2 hours. With our CalMac HopScotch tickets the bikes went free, and the whole lot cost just over £30, an absolute bargain.

Our first night was to be spent at Whitesand Bay about 8 miles south on Arran's East coast. As we cycled out of Brodick we met the first real hill, a 2 mile 1 in 8 pull. Toiling upward and wheezing heavily I glanced at Geoff' ahead and noticed something strange. His pedals were going around considerably faster than mine despite me being in the lowest possible gear. The SCR 3.0 is obviously a road bike aimed at younger, fitter cyclists pelting along with no mudguards and panniers, not fat old blokes approaching their 64th birthday. A quick examination revealed my smallest chain ring had 30 teeth and the largest rear sprocket had 26 teeth. On Geoff's trusty Dawes Tourer, it was the other way roung 26 teeth on the chainring and 30 teeth on the sprocket. Fit Geoff was sailing up the hill like a breeze while I puffed and wheezed along barely able to make the pedals turn even on the granny ring. As there isn't one bicycle shop on the islands we were visiting, it seemed I was doomed to a week toiling up the hills. With evening approaching and a light mizzle falling, we finally arrived at our small hotel. After attaching the bikes to a handy cast iron downpipe with my new superlock, a welcome shower preceded a stroll around to discover the delights of this small resort. Surprisingly there was an Indian, a Chinese bedecked in coloured lights and and 'oh joy' a pub where we tucked into a supper of Curried Parsnip Soup, followed by a heaped plateful of Haggis Neaps and Tatties, an eclectic but satifying mix washed down by a couple of pints of the Heavy. Later I fell into a deep satisfying slumber secure in the knowledge that I wasn't actually going to be much of a burden on Geoff.

Next morning in a light rain we set off for a spin that would take us 3/4 of the way around Arran. The hilly part came first. Geoff disappeared down the first hill like a speeding bullet, but as I followed him and the speed built up to about 25 mph I became aware of a new, and frightening problem. The back of the bike began to gyrate from side to side under the weight of the rear panniers rather like a crazed metronome, as the speed increased it got worse and worse, and I descended the hill in a series of long S shaped ever increasing gyrations. My engineering knowledge rang alam bells, as I realised with horror that I was on the verge of a unstoppable harmonic gyration which would doubtless end in disaster. I frantically hauled on the brakes and came to rest at the bottom thankfully still in one piece. It would be 25mph max with panniers from now on. The rain had now settled into a steady patter and the hills gave way to a spectacular afternoon spin along Arrans' western shore on a practically flat road. The shore teemed with seabirds fishing and squabbling, to the right majestic mountains were shrouded in mist and cloud. It was great to be there out in the open air at a pace where you could see a changing land and seascape, and hear the sounds and smell the smells that you are so cut off from in a car. In spite of the steady plop of rain, and the droplets running off the front of my helmet this was all I had hoped that cycling would be and more. At last we rounded the headland with grand mountains to our right and a grey seascape to our left and the small town of Lochranzer hove into view. The Youth Hostel where we would spend the night looked impressive.

Lochranzer Youth Hostel on Arran

After checking in, and changing into dry clothes it was off to the drying room with the wet stuff, including my now thoroughly wet shoes. I made a note to get some overshoes on my return. The dorm where we were billetted was pretty basic and two showers and two toilets to about 20 blokes was a bit thin. The kitchen and dining room were a revalation to me, with walkers and cyclists of all nationalities scurrying around preparing their evening feasts. We would encounter many of those cyclists we saw here later on in our journey. Not for us the culinary art, it was off to the pub for more beer and a hearty meal to replenish us.

Next morning we awoke to bright sunshine and blagged some milk from fellow hostellers to go with the small pack of muesli Geoff had carried.

Lochranzer Castle on Arran

It was a leisurely start as the ferry didn't leave until 11. After a half hour ferry journey to the Kintyre peninsular, we cycled up the hill on one side and blazed down to the Islay Ferry on the other. It was at this point that we met what I can only describe as the human dynamo (from Germany). Peter, had cycled here fro Munster in Germany, cycling across Holland where he took a ferry to Newcastle, then cycling to Glasgow where he had followed the same path as us. He had panniers all over his bike, complete with a tent wrapped in a foam matress on the back. Here was a super young cyclist, not only highly fit, but highly efficient too. He swept past and was soon as a speck in the distance. It was only when we arrived at the ferry that we were able to chat to him and hear his amazing story. The Ferry to Islay took about 2 hours, so we were able to fill up on chips from the CalMac galley.

View of Jura's 'Baps' en route to Islay

As we alighted on Islay a look of horror passed across my face as I spied the hill that lead out of Port Askaig. I actually made it halfway, but then my legs stopped. It wasn't much further to our B&B. When we arrived it was a Friday night, and the first evening of the annual Islay jazz festival. Geoff had booked a couple of gigs, so now we just had to find a way to get the 23 miles to the first one that evening? We had no lights, so biking was out. The plan was to get a bus or taxi or thumb it there, but as the B&B was about two miles up a little side road, a bit of walking was inevitable. The B&B was a tiny bungalow, but it must have had the best view on the Eastern side of Islay. Donald our host introduced us to our fellow guests, a Canadian Barrister and his wife - they had a car! Quick as a flash we casually mentioned that we were going to a Jazz Festival gig tonight. "Well theres a coincidence so are we!" responded the Barrister. "Any chance of a lift?" I enquired. "Sure" was the reply, only it turned out that we were going to Port Charlotte and they were going to a gig in Bowmore... still Bowmore was halfway, and we could get a taxi no doubt? A quick nosh in the Inn at Bowmore with a fantastic view across the bay, then we asked the waiter to order a taxi.

View from the restaurant at Bowmore on Islay

He came back a few minutes later and told us there were only three taxis on Islay and they were all booked up all night. So, thumbing it was the only way, we walked out of Bowmore with thumbs held high and after a short time a kind lady stopped and gave us a lift right to the gig where she was going too. At this point, now some 25 miles from our B&B we had no idea how we were going to get back. The gig was Martin Taylor, Britains best Jazz guitarist. Martin and his ensemble were great, it took me right back to my apprenticeship days when Geoff and I had explored all the Jazz clubs in London. Someone had told the organiser that we were looking for a lift, but, she got it wrong and announced in the interval that we wanted to go to the other end of the island. A guy soon approached us and offered a lift but it was the wrong way, he was going to Port Ellen in the south. After the gig had finished it was pitch dark outside the hall and we bravely set off down the road hoping to thumb our way home. The same guy who had offered us a lift to the south appeared in a 4WD. "You chaps sorted?" he enquired. "No we've got to thumb it", we said. "Jump in" he said, and he took us right back to the B&B, then planning to go to Port Ellen at the other end of the Island to catch a bit of the Gina Rae gig which ended at midnight. His generosity was fantastic. He was a Glaswegian businessmean with a second home on Islay, and he was having the time of his life with the jazz and a weekend off from the family.

Next morning was beautiful with warm sunshine so we took the 5 minute ferry ride to Jura. Jura is about 30 miles long, is inhabited by 180 people and 2,500 red deer.

The Baps of Jura (wonder how they got their name?)

There is one distillery, and one narrow tarmac road. We headed for the distillery, stopping a couple of times to watch the deer, buzzards, swans and seabirds. At the distillery we had a wee dram and made some miniature purchases.

Time for another dram! - The Jura distillery

Then it was back to the ferry. In the afternoon there was another gig back on Islay in the Bunnahabhain distillery 4 miles north of our B&B. Out with the thumb again! The gig was to be transmitted live on Radio 3's Jazz Line-up. The atmosphere was great because the gig took place in the distillery's filling shed. A wee dram was provided on entrance because 'Black Bottle' whiskey was the sponsor of the whole Jazz festival and this is where it was made. The main band, Stramash, put together by trumpet player Colin Steele, was amazing. Piano, bass, drums, three fiddles, cello, trumpet, sax and bagpipes playing a potent mixture of celtic sounds and hot jazz! They haven't recorded yet, but when they do I will certainly get a CD. It was fascinating watching the Julian Joseph and BBC guys putting the programme together.

That evening it was off to another gig in Bowmore coutesy of our Canadian pals. Sheena Swanson is a hot local singer with an amazing voice despite having cystic fibrosis. As her guest she had Scottish Jazz diva Fionna Duncan. Fionna must be in her 70's but she can still belt them out. A great afternoon and evening, and a great bonus to our tour.

Next morning was rainy again as we cycled down to Port Ellen to take our reluctant leave of Islay, 23 miles took us over a huge peat bog. The ferry made its way back to Kennacraig on Kintyre from where we we cycled the short distance to Tarbert.

Reflections in Tarbett Harbour

As we entered Tarbert and made our way to our small hotel on the quay, we noticed a pulsing beat coming from a huge tent on the quay and small groups of smokers at the entrances to all the pubs. Strange for late on a sunday afternoon - it was another music festival! This one was all sorts of rock bands. We then found that the last gig was in our hotel starting at 11pm! After a quick shower we headed for the pub. It was then that I noticed the peculiar gait of various people. They all seemed to stagger along bent over to one side, and we watched in amazement as one fellow staggered past us and disappeared around the corner sideways, but still facing the same way. The residents of Tarbert had obviously been 'at it' for some hours. All in all, we had a great evening taking in a couple of free gigs in the pubs where we met a sailing pal of Geoff's and downed quite a few heavies and drams. Consequently the gig downstairs didn't disturb us too much.

In the morning a long day with four ferry rides lay ahead. Across Loch Fyne from Kintyre, then over to Bute, then from Rothesay on Bute back to Weyms Bay on the mainland and finally Gouroch to Helenburgh. Later that morning in a cafe in Tinaghbruich when the locals heard where we were going, they exchanged looks and grinned.

View from the 'top' over the Kyles of Bute

"Its a great view from up there, aye it is!" It was, one of the most challenging rides of our little trip, with a big hill and fine views. At one point a coach party pulled up and it was full of wrinklies just like me. "Am I mad", I thought, "perhaps thats the way I should be doing this!" The rest of the journey was uneventful except for the timely and excellent restored public toilets at Rothesay quay. Here was a sight that took me back to the wonderful marble clad emporiums of my youth. It has won national awards and boasts a full time lady attendant. It's a public coinvenience that the people of Rothesay can be justly proud. Even the 15p entrance fee was worth it. They sold postcards, so I sent my brother one - he likes to record the names of cisterns - "The Deadnought" etc.. Funny hobby?

Taking advantage of the facilities at Rothesay

At Weyms bay we inspected the fantastic old Victorian station. In the station 'The Royal Scot" was drawn up. Seeing a fellow in a smart blazer obviously in charge we made enquiries. Apparently it was on a trip from Edinburgh with a small party of rich tourists. £800 a day per person. We thought of the CalMac Hopscotch tickets and gulped.

It was now the home stretch as we cycled back up the coast, but on arrival at Gouroch there was a 2 hour wait for the puffer. There was another earlier puffer right then to the north bank of the Clyde. "Feeling fit?", said Geoff, who expalined that we could take it, but after that there would be a long ride around Gare Loch to Rhu. Feeling fitter and stronger, "lets go for it", I replied. That day we did 52 miles which is not a lot by cycling standards, but not bad for a fat old bloke who hasn't cycled seriously for nearly 50 years. As we cycled up the hill to Geoff's home at Rhu, the heavens opened, we walked into the kitchen really soaked, but, although it rained on our trip, I was never uncomfortable. We'd done a comfortable 200 miles in 6 days, people easily cycle from Lands End to John O'Groats in that time. It had been an adventure with plenty of uncertainties, but that's what makes life interesting isn't it?

On my return back home I can now get up all the local hills with ease, my fitness and weight is on the up, and I think I am going to once again, enjoy this cycling lark.

Cruising to the Channel Islands August 2006











Musketeer tied up in St Peter Port Guensey

The cruise of the Musketeer this year was characterised by sea mists, the absence of one of the crew after day 4, and a record crossing (for the boat) of the Channel from Alderney Breakwater to the Needles Bridge Buoy.

We started from Hamble mostly motoring across Poole bay in fitful winds to arrive at Studland.

Studland Anchorage with Old Harry in the background

After an excellent evening in the Bankes Arms we took a walk along the cliffs to Old Harry Rocks where we could look back to our anchorage. Rising at 5.30 next morning it was 7.15 before we could break the anchor out. It had fouled on a big mooring chain and we had to send the ships hammer down on a line to trip it.

That day we motor sailed to Alderney arriving about 6pm. Finding the harbour pretty full we tied up sharing a buoy with a similar size boat.

View over Braye Harbour

After a quick pint on the deck of the recently refurbished Divers pub we walked to the town finding a very nice but packed Thai restaurant. What an incongruous sight on Alderney! Next morning after a walk up to the town to get a battery for the ships clock we set out for Guernsey down the dreaded Swinge in a fickle sea mist.

That dreaded Swinge

For those who don't know it The Swinge is a rock strewn channel down the North West side of Alderney. When the tide is flowing at full pelt its a scary place for a sailing boat. With 5 knots of tide or more under your keel you have to keep your wits about you. This sea mist was unusual in August and was quite scary.

On then to Guernsey which was similarly shrouded in a mist that came down in seconds and obscured the many rocks in the Little Russell aproach channel. We were glad of the radar and GPS which guided us safely into harbour. Later the mist lifted, leaving a nice sunny evening. After a shower and the inevitable G&T mixed on board, we repaired to a nice Italian hostelry and the yacht club for a nightcap.

Next day one of the crew had to leave us, so we all got on the 'round the island' bus which passed the airport. The driver refused my mainland pensioners' bus pass, it was only 60p anyway! We spent the afternoon shopping, had an early evening meal for about a tenner at the amazing French owned Petit Bistro and it was early to bed for an early start back to Alderney. On arrival we set off to walk to the south of the Island taking us past the Swinge again studded with rocks at low tide. We continued round to the south where we could see the Gannet colony. Every flat space on the guano covered rocks was occupied by gannets, whilst as many again wheeled overhead in a massive cloud.

The Swinge at low tide with Ortac and the Casquettes light in the background

The gannet colony

Then on to Telegraph bay, the only other yacht friendly place in Alderney. A magnificent view on such a wonderful sunny day. This bay is a refuge from the Alderney Race which has even faster tidal streams that The Swinge. The tides in this area have one of the greatest tidal ranges in the world, exceeded only by Newfoundland. This means that in a yacht which can make only 5 to 6 knots you have to go with the tides, otherwise you can easily end up going backwards or risk ending up on the rocks.

At one place there was heather on the cliffs, at another a carpet of succulents with orange flowers. The flora of Alderney is like the island itself, miniature and truly amazing.

Telegraph Bay

Then back to St Annes, Alderneys' metropolis for a well earned late afternoon pint at the Divers.

Enjoying a pint in The Divers

Next day the plan was to head for Cherbourg, but with the wind in an awkward place the day after offering the prospect of having to tack our way back across the channel we set course for the Needles on a nice reach. Our sail was in a force 5, which increased as we approached the Island to a full 6. Musketeer romped along and we did Braye harbour entrance to the Needles in 9 hours dead, a record for us as its about 55 miles, and a pretty good time for any 30 foot yacht. The wind and sea condition were too much for an autohelm (it was broken anyway), and the last few hours were very tiring with only two helmsman. We entered the Needles channel a little early with the tide still ripping out against us past the Bridge buoy and the Shingles bank (the doom of many a yacht), a mass of foaming white overfalls just 50 metres way. One of those anxious moments. But we made it easily in spite of the foul tide.

Approaching the Needles

We tied up in Yarmouth, one of my favourite places in the Solent. After a welcome shower it was off to the Wheatsheaf, a real gem of a hostelry with excellent food and beer, and then off to the inevitable yacht club for that nightcap.

The next morning we headed down the Solent towards Cowes, but we continued to Wooton Creek where we met up with an old friend at the Royal Victoria yacht club . The Royal Vic was actually started by the Queen and her consort because Albert was not a naval man and therefore not allowed to join the Island's most prestigious yacht club, the white ensigned Royal Yacht Squadron.

That night in Cowes was the day of the mass terrorist arrests all over the mainland. As we sat in Murrays restaurant we observed two policeman armed with machine guns walk along Cowes High Street. Quite a shock in a town where the only disturbance is the group of youngsters gathered outside the chip shop. My companion relieved the tension by saying that the armed police were there 'on account of someone trying to get into the Royal Yacht Squadron without a tie!'

The next afternoon we were back out our berth in the Hamble. Our missing companion arrived to collect his gear. After tidying the boat, we sat quietly enjoying a cup of tea, recalling the events of the week. Although we have done this trip and others like it many times together ,we discussed the best moments. The new sights we had seen, things we marvelled at like Aderneys' stange flora, laughed at the sleepless night in Braye harbour where on every yacht people were up hour on hour trying to prevent boats crashing together even though there was no east wind. At last we reluctantly parted leaving our old boat quiet on its mooring...

Mutant Garlic in South Oxfordshire!!!

Dug up a row of Garlic this evening. Got the seed bulbs from an Indian Grocer in Reading's Oxford Road, but.... Some of the plants have little bulbs growing halfway up the stems!

Right here, we are in a triangle between Aldermaston, Harwell and Culham - is this a gentic mutation, or is there a natural explanation?

Allotmenting is sort of hard graft in South Oxfordshire.... I shall ramble on, please excuse me!

This picture gives a clue, the weeds on the many untended plots are shoulder high and what you can't see just yet is that the soil is really stony and very free draining. On the upper plots where my patch is, there is poor soil that, in its initial state, is pretty unproductive. A local geologist reckons that this land was once a stream bed, even though its altitude is approximately 300 feet on the edge of the Chilterns. Added to that there is the wildlife.... 20 years ago I had a plot here, packed with plants growing strongly, then one day I came along and it had been raised to the ground by a huge flock of pigeons. I gave up! But now I have retired there is a little more time for vegetable growing. We have Muntjack and other deer, rabbits, pigeons and pheasants, and they are all after your crops.These days on this site we all garden in chicken wire enclosures to thwart the rabbits and discourage the deer. Anything the birdies like must be kept under fruit nets.

Here's my plot, 20 yards by 10, with uncultivated plots with shoulder high weeds on either side, and brambles and elderberry at the rear. In high summer I shall be picking those berries all of which make excellent pies.

As you can see, I'm not a fussy allotmenteer - there are plenty of weeds. Its not my whole life. I probably do no more than three hours a week leaving plenty of time for other essential retirement activities like getting up late, reading the paper, sailing, jetting off on bargain Easyjet breaks, sitting in the garden, having lazy pub lunches and walking or riding my bike in the local countryside. Just lately I have ripped my kitchen out and replaced it, so the resulting allotment neglect has ensured that weeds have really sprouted. I am a lazy gardener so my technique is to rip them up with my hoe and leave them on top to die, providing a nice mulch here and there. Personally I like to dig very little so an initial annual dose of Roundup from my 5 litre sprayer deals with the weeds. The rest is removed by muscle power over the seasons. I use no artificial fertiliser or pest control sprays.

This is the non cultivated part of the plot with my compost bins, home made cloche (made from old conservatory roofing sheets and now being used as a tool store), a water butt, and a small pile of really excellent horse manure. Note the weeds! All kitchen waste, garden rubbish and some weeds and plant tops from the plot get composted. But as the plot is fairly exposed its hard to get things to compost fast. We get excellent manure here, although expensive at £40 for a large heap. Iron hard ground full of stones calls for the right tools. Here's my Welsh miners pointed shovel with a steel shaft, and my Wolf hoe and weed loosener, a great tool.

The plot costs me £12 a year, and for that you just get use of the plot and water (30 metres away), but nothing else. Fair enough really. Fencing and netting is an initial £100 outlay. The allotments are out in the country with fields and woods all around. Whilst you are toiling you can hear the larks singing constantly, the calls of South Oxfordshire's red kites wheeling overhead and pheasants screeching.

Heres some sweetcorn tomatoes and peppers. The Tomatoes are Marmande I got the seeds from France last year. Both the peppers and tomatoes are surplus plants to the real McCoy in our greenhouse at home. In our village we have a real old fashioned Ironmongers who sells great cheap plants too, the sweetcorn and courgette plants came from him. I brought a couple of screw eyes for a curtain from him the other day - 7p each instead of a packet at £4.50 from B&Q! Old fashioned customs, like splitting packets are often the best.

I discovered that you can transplant beetroot here, - about 25 of my 35 thinnings survived. After 1 weeks transplantation they looked like they had completely flopped over and died, but after a bit of watering, hey presto! Last year I did this and the transplants grew bigger than the ones left in the original row!

Note the stony ground. Afficionados remove them. I ignore them, why make work? They make a good mulch.

Courgettes, Ridge Cucumbers and a little Butternut Squash plant. All on manure heaps. One day last year we had 14 cucumbers! Runners French and Broad Beans. All on manure and mulched with more manure. When first planted out it was necessary to water these every evening. Since we are under hosepipe restrictions I had to do that by hand. Simultaneously I used the hose to fill the barrel. I don't believe in hosepipes because plants continuously watered with hoses don't grow decent root systems. As we only got 1 day of rain here in June I did water the beans every 3 to 5 days. Onions, shallots and garlic do just great here.Here's a closeup of a 2 inch garlic bulb. I bought two bulbs for seed for 10p each from an Indian Grocer on Reading's Oxford Road and planted the cloves in early April. Almost ready....

The spuds, Arran Pilot, Foremost, Maris Peer and Desiree. I watered about the first three Arran Pilot's during the drought which resulted in a good initial crop. I have tried not earthing up a few Maris Peer and Desiree to see if this affects the yield. Why dig if you don't have to?

'The cage'. Necessary for any tasty crops. Therefore seed beds, strawberries, brassicae, lettuce and anything else tender goes in here. Last week I found two live pigeons in there. They ate all my baby cabbages, leaving the calibrese (choosy!), so I ate them. They tasted nice in a pie!

Heres the payoff, collected today. A couple of the first courgettes, some beetroot, shallots, runner beans and a root of Arran Pilot. This evening's dinner and fresh baby beets for tommorow's salad.

There are a lot of plots on our site free, covered in dense untended weeds. This can be explained by the natural obstacles I have described. As you can see mine is not the neatest plot in the world. I find that a couple of 1 1/2 hour sessions a week is all that is needed to grow what my pal Val and I need. There are some at our site that have the weed free regimented plots. However the vast majority are like mine, practical plots producing tasty vegetables in sub-optimum yields. There is no allotment committee, no allotment inspectors, no one enforcing any rules, and nature is your only companion.

It's perfect really.