Let The Guy Sleep

It's nine thirty on a Saturday morning. I am sitting at a Costa Cafe in Dumfries, Scotland. I just finished my giant latte and ate my strawberry granola yogurt. Two girls are managing the store, a couple with a new born are sitting in the corner, one guy has been reading a book since I came here.

It's busy, I feel tired.

I didn't sleep well last night. In fact I didn't sleep at all. One bunch of golfer idiots from Ireland ruined my two-night-stay at the Cairndale Hotel right across the corner. Those fuck ups, as I prefer to call any golfer till I play that damn game myself, partied all night for two nights, each till 6 AM every morning.

I am not really pissed off, because I didn't choose to party myself, but rather because I just couldn't get my good night's sleep to be ready to tackle a wild ride or two in Scottish woods with my mountain bike. Exact the reason I come to Scotland - to ride my bike, to play in the woods.

Too tired? Oh god, never! When it comes to riding my bike, I am a brave heart, a Scot myself. A shot of "Amazing Grace" mixed with Neil Young's "Cortez The Killer" would do the job.

Did I mention, I am driving to the coast tonight, Kirkcudbright to be exact, where I'll spend the night and eventually go to a Neil Young Tribute Concert in an old abbey?

Rock in the Church. Now that is Scotland.