Last Day. Tongue to JoG

Well here it is at last; only 62 miles with rain and headwind separate us from victory. A few days ago this day could not come too soon, but now it has arrived it is tinged with a little sadness.
When we stayed at the B&B in Invergary we were looked after by Freddie and Isabel Service. On enquiring I found out that Freddie's Dad was a cousin of the great Robert W. Service. This reminded me of one my favorite pieces of his work. Although written for sterner times and events, many of the sentiment expressed in this piece apply to the resolve we have had to find to complete this trip.

The Quitter

When you're lost in the Wild, and you're scared as a child,
And Death looks you bang in the eye,
And you're sore as a boil, it's according to Hoyle
To cock your revolver and . . . die.
But the Code of a Man says: "Fight all you can,"
And self-dissolution is barred.
In hunger and woe, oh, it's easy to blow . . .
It's the hell-served-for-breakfast that's hard.

"You're sick of the game!" Well, now, that's a shame.
You're young and you're brave and you're bright.
"You've had a raw deal!" I know -- but don't squeal,
Buck up, do your damnedest, and fight.
It's the plugging away that will win you the day,
So don't be a piker, old pard!
Just draw on your grit; it's so easy to quit:
It's the keeping-your-chin-up that's hard.

It's easy to cry that you're beaten -- and die;
It's easy to crawfish and crawl;
But to fight and to fight when hope's out of sight --
Why, that's the best game of them all!
And though you come out of each gruelling bout,
All broken and beaten and scarred,
Just have one more try -- it's dead easy to die,
It's the keeping-on-living that's hard.

Robert William Service

Keep tuned in for the victory pictures and today's report at blog-o-clock, which may be earlier tonight.