My guidebook offered two routes to Peebles, a walk over the mountains on the Cross Borders Drove Road, or a shorter, flatter cycle track along an old railway line in the valley. I set out, watched by a cheeky wagtail on a wall, intending follow the Drove Road as the distance today was only 15 kilometres so I had plenty of time for a climb, but inadvertently I started following a third route, a track I had loaded onto my GPS for the Scottish National Trail. By the time I realised I was two kilometres away from the junction with the Drove Road so decided to continue. It did have the advantage that it passed the "Bear Gates", an entrance, not used for many years, to Traquair house, which I could see through them. I remembered Traquair from my student days, not because of the history of the house, but because its brewery produced an exceedingly strong beer. Being a restrained fellow I never actually tried it. The Bear Gates are so named as they have a very fierce looking bear on each of the gate posts.
My route began with a fair bit of road walking, but with one excursion into the forest on the valley side. Later it joined the cycle track on the old railway line, crossing the river and bisecting a golf course, where the players were zooming around on golf buggies (rather than getting much exercise). Later I was able to leave the hard surface of the cycle track and wander through paths in woodland between it and the river admiring a host of different flowers (as well as stinging nettles). This included Pink Purslane, a flower I had not come across before, which originated in North America. With the seasons moving on foxgloves and wild roses are now in flower, elder bushes are just coming into blossom as is hogweed. The last of the hawthorn blossom is turning brown.
My final stretch into Peebles was beside the river. People were out in the riverside park enjoying the sunshine. Red and white bunting decorated the town and some of the houses, intended for the weeklong festival of Beltane, which was largely cancelled for a second year due to the Coronavirus pandemic. After a bit of window shopping in the small independent shops that lined the old high street, and a very good lunch (sausage roll with pork and fennel with some inventive salads), I walked by desirable Victorian housing and the remains of an ancient church (Cross Kirk) to reach the Crossburn Caravan site, where I was profusely welcomed and am now camping. I returned to town later for diner on the Cuddy Path, a tranquil route by a small river with bright patches of yellow flag iris. Returning to the caravan site as the sun was lowering in the sky, passed the metal statues of stags, I disturbed rabbits feeding on the grass, but the blackbirds continued picking up small worms, undisturbed by my presence and two pigeons had a barny.
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