A gentle and largely unremarkable tale of biking in the wilds of Scotland in 1974, complete with grainy black-and-white photos.
I really appreciated Cantin's open-ness about being wildly unprepared for this journey, as well as how often he admits that he simply got off the bike and pushed it. And unlike in a lot of narratives, these passages aren't framed as admissions of defeat so much as accurate depictions of travel. As someone who still has to sometimes get off and push, I appreciated this shift in framing.
What I didn't understand was Cantin's abject refusal to take some of the weight off of his bike -- even after 8 flat tires! Sir, your poor bike is trying to tell you something.
Oh look, there's you actually hearing what your bike is trying to tell you: the tubes keep popping because you're carrying too much weight.
Aaaaand there's you totally ignoring that fact and keeping on until the next flat tire, which you're super steamed at.
What even were you carrying? You've clocked your possessions as weighing about 30lbs; the bike's an entry-level 1970s road bike, so likely 30lbs itself, bare minimum. So...you're pedaling a 60-pound bike around? I have done this for (very) short stretches, and it is a challenge.
Yet you stay in B&Bs every night, and buy food as you go, and freely admit you're not carrying any tools beyond patch kit, bike pump and one (1) spanner, so what in the world is making up that 30lbs of gear???
This bothered me possibly more than it should have.
I did appreciate, though, Cantin's devotion to retelling the bloodier bits of Scotland's history every time he visits a castle. And there were a lot of castles to visit.