Cycling in Midlothian (and elsewhere)

The point of this outing was to combine a visit to my Mum with a decent cycle, and also a flying visit to my Dad as well. Starting off from Cambusbarron at about 9.40am, the aim was to wend my way to Doune for noon, where I would meet Mum for lunch. It was a pleasant warmish day, with very little wind and occasional sunny intervals. Summer at last!

I got down Touch Road pretty quickly and turned left onto the A811 Dumbarton Road, finding it not particularly busy. The traffic all seemed to congregate about a couple of miles further on, just as I was trying to turn right. Safely away from the main road now, and over the River Forth, I was now on a long, flat, straight and fairly quiet road running across the Carse in the general direction of Doune. Such a flat road is a bit of a novelty to me, and I was surprised to see that I was doing over 18 mph with not a lot of effort.

At the end of the road, I had to turn left onto the A84 for a very short while, before going left again at the next junction. That took me onto the road to Thornhill, which although never very busy, has enough twists and turns for me to likely end up with a queue of cars behind, waiting to overtake. So I took a diversion onto a deserted minor road that runs back across the Carse towards Kippen. That was a very pleasant tootle through mostly flat farmland, with enough twists and turns to keep the scenery fresh.

Just a few miles from Kippen, I came alongside the meandering River Forth and found the right turn which would take me to Thornhill. I passed the Flanders Moss nature reserve on my left, which would be worth a visit sometime, but today was already planned out, so I carried on heading northwards. Thornhill soon appeared ahead of me, marking an end to the pan-flat flood plain.

As I climbed gently up the hill into the village, I noticed what looked like a Sea King helicopter in a park to the right. I stopped for a closer look. There seemed to be people working on it, maybe making it safe for kids to play on. That would be great fun!

I carried on up into Thornhill, then out the other side and quickly turned right onto the road to Callander. For the next few miles, the road undulated quite markedly, with the general direction of travel being upwards. It would probably be more fun coming the other way. The fertile farmland gradually made way for rough pasture and moorland before the road began to descend again and I found myself rapidly approaching Callander.

I stopped beside the river close to the car park and had a bit of a break, as I was well ahead of schedule. It gave me a chance to look at the route, where I had planned to take advantage of a cycle route (no 765) running from Callander to Dunblane that I had spotted on my mapping app. This starts near the Dreadnought Hotel and runs through the residential area up the hill on the north side of Callander.

I didn’t see any cycle route signs though, so I had to stop at virtually every junction to double check I was going the right way. Thus, I ignored the “no through road” sign at the start of one road I was routed down. Fairly quickly, the road turned into a difficult gravel track, then became foot-wide grass track, which in no time was blocked by a high wooden fence which seemed to be enclosing a garden.

That didn’t seem to be right, but a quick glance at my MapOut showed that I was indeed in the right place. The map showed the path skirting round the obstacle, taking me along a barely discernable track onto a golf course. The golfers did seem slightly taken aback for a while, as I trundled my bike through the rough towards them. I then followed the virtual path, which was now not visible at all in real life, as it skirted along the edge of the fairway. I made a point of looking intently at my GPS with a puzzled expression on my face as I pushed the bike down the fairway, trying to convey the impression that it really wasn’t my own idea to come this way!

Thankfully it wasn’t long before a path away from the golf course appeared, bringing me back to tarmac. A little more map reading showed me the way onto a proper paved cycle path, which had me thinking it would be easy from here. However, the lack of cycle path signage meant that I was still stopping every minute or two to check the way, which was very time consuming.

The quiet back road after Callander

After reaching Keltie Bridge, the route then took me onto proper road, albeit single track with some of the worst surface that I’ve ever seen on a public road. I will forgive it that though, as it took me into some beautiful and peaceful countryside. After passing the miniscule distillery at Drumbane, I didn’t see a soul. I felt myself deliberately going slow, as I was enjoying this road so much, and wasn’t looking forward to the next bit, when I reached the A84.

When I finally did arrive at the main road, I headed left and was soon riding through Buchany with a queue of cars behind me. Luckily it wasn’t long before I got to turn left when I arrived at the Scottish Antiques and Arts Centre. At the end of the driveway, I spotted my Mum getting out of her car, making our timing spot on.

We went into the cafe and ordered lunch. The food was lovely and the service was amazingly quick. We were heading back out within 30 minutes and I didn’t feel rushed at all. That was good, as it gave me extra time to play with on the remainder of my cycle.

Returning to the A84, I had just a few more minutes of the busy road to endure before turning off into Doune town centre. There I found my first signpost for the fabled route 765. That took me left at the church, past a park, then onto a genuine cycle path on the bed of an old railway.

This easy ride (apart from the odd tree root) ran for a mile or so, till it ended when it reached a road, and sent me across that road and onto a path on the other side. This path was pretty overgrown but still paved underneath. However, that too ran out and it became a dirt track for a while. That’s fairly normal for Sustrans routes, I don’t know why I still expect them to be good quality, but I managed fine on my road bike and it didn’t get too dirty.

The Allan Water at Dunblane

Fairly soon, the path led to a bridge over the A9 and into Dunblane, next to the High School. From there, I trusted the signs to take me through the housing developments until I reached the river. A nice arched bridge took me across to the south end of the public park on the other side. At that point, I thought it would be fun to ride the path alongside the river as it headed downstream, only to find the path closed. There had been a flood a few years previously which caused part of the path to collapse. At least I could continue via the bridge to the park on the other side, and from there, came out at the station.

From there, I pushed my bike along the pavement to the High Street, where I stopped at my Dad’s house for a quick visit. After a cuppa and a chat, I headed up the High Street, past Andy Murray’s golden post box and up to the roundabout, where I picked up route 765 once more.

The cycle route goes quite steeply up Glen Road, which I had to start with zero momentum, as a dippy lady driver pulled out in front of me on the roundabout and forced me to stop. She looked straight through me, and I don’t think she saw me at all, as she had just caught sight of a couple of girls that were waiting at the side of the road for her to pick them up. Ah well, no harm done this time.

My attempt to climb Glen Road was clearly fated, as the next obstacle was a team of workmen renewing the road surface. This was no small job – they were doing the whole lot, so it will be a pleasure to cycle up next time. Luckily, I was able to push my bike past them on the pavement.

At the top of the climb, the cycle route carried forward on a section of old road that has been permanently closed to vehicular traffic. Not surprisingly, this is called “Old Glen Road”. The glen itself is a dense and very steep sided wood. I stopped to check out a waterfall which sounded quite significant, but it was obscured by foliage, so it really wasn’t worth attempting a photo.

The old Stirling Bridge

At the end of Old Glen Road, the route zig-zagged through housing till it came out at the west end of Bridge of Allan. There I turned left onto the main road, then right onto Fountain Road, which heads towards Stirling. This took me past the women’s prison and brought me back to the River Forth, where it’s crossed by the 500-year old Old Stirling Bridge. Cobbled, and strictly for pedestrians only, I think this is the first time I’ve been across it.

From this point, I took the Back O’ Hill road, keeping Stirling Castle to my left till I went right upon reaching King’s Park and continued back to my start point in Cambusbarron. Although I could have avoided it, I made a point of finishing by going up Quarry Road. This defeated me on many an occasion when I was a youngster, but modern gearing made it actually much easier than I expected. So a good end to a day with lots of variety.

Finally, I just needed to know more about that daft cycle route that sent me across a golf course. Well, it turns out that the stretch of route 765 between Callander and Doune is still in the planning stage, which is why there weren’t any signs. The aim is to get a cycle friendly route running all the way between Callander and Stirling, via Doune and Dunblane, which would be an amazing asset if it ever gets completed. Meantime, try not to annoy the golfers!

Advancing my breadcrumb trail further northward, this ride took me through the Cairngorms by way of the Drumochter Pass. This was always the way I’d planned until quite recently, when I read up about the Gaick Pass. This alternative is somewhat shorter, but it does involve going cross-country into the mountains along landrover tracks, narrow walking tracks and wading through rivers. It all sounded quite exciting, but when the day of the ride approached, the weather forecast started looking gloomy. So after agonising about the options for some time, which included postponing, I decided to take my mountain bike and make the final decision when I got to Bruar.

The rain was coming down steadily as I unpacked the car in the House of Bruar car park. I was glad of my bright yellow Aldi waterproof jacket as I headed out west along the B847, though it wasn’t long before the initial unpleasantness of the rain wore off and I got used to it.

I almost took the wrong turn at Calvine, but after checking the map, I carried on towards the junction with the A9 until an opening on the left took me onto the cycle route that leads to Dalwhinnie. This is part of national cycle route 7, and makes use of various parts of the old A9 as well as some custom-made cycle path.

The first part, running alongside River Garry, was pleasant (if you ignored the rain), with the dark peaty water cascading over rocks. That made me wonder about the state of the rivers that needed crossing up in the Gaick Pass. Would they be in spate with all the recent rain?

About 7 miles in, I reached Dalnacardoch where, if I wanted to do the Gaick Pass, I would have to cross the A9 dual carriageway. Looking up in the direction of the Gaick Pass, the mountains were enveloped in cloud, meaning I wouldn’t get much of a view if I went that way. So that decided it for me, I was doing the easier option, sticking to route 7, and I could investigate the Gaick Pass another time.

The spine of the Highlands

For the next few miles, the cycle path stuck quite close to the northbound side of the A9 dual carriageway. To be honest it wasn’t very picturesque, with the proximity of the traffic, the railway on the other side and electricity pylons dominating the scene from higher up the hillside. If you took them all away though, the cycle path was nice to ride along, with plenty of undulations, turns and little bridge crossings to keep you interested.

Drumlins in the mist

A couple of stretches ran right next to the road, and it was while cycling along one of those that I decided it was time to take a swig from my water bottle. When I looked down to put it back in its holder, I realised that up till now I had been looking over the top of my glasses, which were obscured by raindrops. A dull thud on the path told me that my blind attempt to reholster my bottle had failed. I stopped and turned round, to see the bottle roll across the grass verge and onto the dual carriageway, with two cars rapidly approaching. The first one moved to the other lane, leaving me enough time to dodge out and retrieve it before the second one arrived. I felt such a twit!

The surface of the route up to this point had been quite acceptable, but as I got closer to the Dalwhinnie side, there were some pretty dodgy bits. Worst were the bits of smooth tarmac that were covered with loose gravel. I was glad that I was using a mountain bike, which is definitely the most fun way of doing this cycle path. It would be possible on a road bike if you took care on the tricky bits, but that would definitely be a lot less fun.

Approaching Dalwhinnie, my speed increased to over 20mph, which was when I realised that I was now going downhill. Once through Dalwhinnie, route 7 took me on a quiet minor road, away from the noise of the A9. It was much brighter now, and the rain had stopped. I began to wonder whether I shouldn’t have tried the Gaick Pass after all.

A few miles later, the road reached the A9 once again, where it was necessary to continue alongside on a cycle path, much of which made use of the old A9. Pretty soon, I came to the Ralia cafe, where we have stopped many times when driving up in the car. Arriving by bike was a first though!

Stopped at Ralia for lunch

I used the facilities and went up to buy a takeaway coffee, but when I was in the queue and raking about in my backpack, I couldn’t find my money. Maybe it was in the saddlebag on my bike, which was propped up outside being eyed up by a couple of teenagers. That made me a little nervous, especially when I remembered my new Garmin cycle computer was also sitting there on the bike. So I gave up on the coffee idea, retrieved my bike and took it to a bench, where I got out my sandwich (which was next to my money all along) and had lunch sans hot drink.

By the time I had finished my sandwich, I’d drawn the attention of a number of midges. I was glad that I didn’t have that coffee after all, as by the time I’d finished it, there might have been a full-on midge attack. So it was time to get back on the road, which took me to Newtonmore in no time at all.

The route continued towards Kingussie, using a path alongside the road for much of the time. The scenery was quite different now, with flat, green farmland to my right.

Arriving in Kingussie, I came to some traffic lights and managed to stop in the wrong gear. I was fussing about that when the light went green, and hurriedly got going again without noticing that route 7 actually went right here. I only realised that I was on the wrong road after a few miles. I could have gone back, but decided to stay on the current road to Kincraig, where I could turn right and join up with route 7 again.

Despite being a minor road, there was a steady stream of traffic. It might be something to do with the current roadworks on the A9 and some people taking a scenic detour to avoid them. At least it wasn’t busy enough to cause any problems.

As I was happily pedalling along this road, I happened to exchange glances with a lamb that had its head poking through a fence. Something about it didn’t seem right, so I stopped and went back to check. It was a square mesh fence, and the poor thing couldn’t get its head back through because of its wee horns catching on the wire. I had to grab it by the horns and turn its head by 45 degrees so that the horns slipped through on the diagonal. It only just fitted through. Well, he bolted off up a banking and through another fence to rejoin his mother for a drink of milk. What a happy ending – I was so glad that I stopped and it wouldn’t have happened if I’d taken the right road out of Kingussie!

At Kincraig, I turned right down The Brae, taking me alongside Loch Insh. The place was buzzing with visitors; some paddling on the loch and others just walking along the road. There were “no parking” cones along the roadside here, and further along there was a very full car park. I’m guessing it’s not free parking!

Next up, I turned left onto route 7 and found myself panting as I went up the only real climb of the day, and it didn’t last all that long either. From there onwards, the road undulated fairly gently through pine forest. This would be ideal road bike territory, but I still made reasonable time on my mountain bike, arriving in Aviemore at almost exactly the same time as Colette did in her car.

Aviemore on the other side…

It took a wee while to find where she parked, then I loaded the bike into the back of the car and she drove me back to Bruar. Perfect organisation and an interesting day’s cycling, although the weather could have been better. Next time, all the way to Beauly…

This ride was me getting back to my plan to cycle to the “four corners of Scotland”, two of which I ticked off last year. Initially I had envisaged doing it by way of several multi-day cycle tours, but recently it hasn’t been possible for me to swan off on such outings, leading me to come up with an alternative solution. That is to “join the dots” so to speak, and do some of the journey in bite-size day-trip chunks.

Today’s chunk was to be from Kinross to Bruar. The reason for starting at Kinross is that I have already cycled all the roads in-between home and Kinross, so I might as well start there and strike northwards. The reason for stopping at Bruar was that was going to coincide with Colette driving down from up-North, so she could pick me up there and take me and my bike back to Kinross, where my car would be waiting in the Park and Ride.

It all sounded good, but I have to admit having a bit of a restless night before worrying about my planned route through Perth, which I wasn’t convinced about, and I was also concerned about cycling through at rush hour. In the end, I got up early and was heading off by 7am into the morning traffic, but before the worst of it.

I reached Kinross at about 8am and got started out on a warm and sunny Wednesday morning. Heading out of Kinross, my worries finally changed to excitement as I looked forward to the day ahead.

Fairly soon, I came into Milnathort, busy with kids heading to school. I had to check my planned route on the MapOut app several times to convince myself that I was going the right way, before I got my eyes tuned into spotting the route 775 signs, which was my way to Perth. This route kept to quiet country roads, for which I was very grateful.

After about 6 miles, I reached the village of Glenfarg, where I had to brake suddenly three separate times for people and cars pulling out into the road in front of me. Strangely, I didn’t find it in the least annoying, I was in such a relaxed mood. The one thing that did alarm me somewhat was when I checked my iPhone and found it non-responsive. I had to do a reboot and was wondering when it stopped working. I would need to go back to that point and restart Strava. Luckily however, Strava seemed to have kept on working and I was simply able to resume from where I was. This is one time that I really NEED Strava to record my route.

The route after Glenfarg was hilly for a while, but at least the road surface was good, seemingly fairly recently replaced. When the climbing stopped, there followed a steep and sustained downhill section, taking my speed to well over 40 mph, even though I was being quite cautious.

Pretty soon, I came to Bridge of Earn, where route 775 ends, a few miles short of Perth. The route to Perth from here is along the A912, but it does have a pavement that is designated dual-use, so cyclists can use that if they would rather not cycle on a busy main road. I did the former, although the A912 was far from busy.

The pavement path took me uphill for a while, then it crossed the road to the other side and underneath the M90 interchange. After that it was downhill into Perth. Although there were no pedestrians, I felt a bit silly continuing to use the pavement, especially as I was headed downhill at a decent speed and besides, the road was unexpectedly quiet. So I hopped onto the road and soon after took a snap decision to turn right onto Friarton Road.

From looking at the map previously, I knew this road headed down to the river (Tay), so that would make navigation easy – just keep the river on my right! That took me through an industrial area before bringing me to the centre of Perth. It was all so much easier that I expected. After a couple of junctions, I turned right and found my way to North Inch park, where I picked up route 77.

Perth

It was very pleasant cycling through the park along the banks of the Tay in the sun; dodging the odd doggie being preferable to dodging cars. The path turned west for a while, following a tributary of the Tay (River Almond) upstream on a fairly rough track, before crossing the river and delivering me back onto “normal” roads once more.

The following six miles or so of undulating road ran through rolling, green countryside, taking me to Bankfoot. The name suggested that there might be a hilly road ahead, but thankfully that wasn’t the case; it was more of a gradual increase in height over the next few miles till the route reached the A9.

Just before the A9, the route went off-road again, going past the old-fashioned looking stationhouse at Dunkeld and Birnham station. It looks like most of the old building is unused, but at least still in good nick apparently, so it could hopefully be brought back into useful service sometime in the future.

From there, there were just a few more paths to negotiate before reaching the town of Dunkeld. I had planned to possibly stop there for lunch, but it was still quite early, so I pressed onwards through the town. At the far end, the route 77 signs pointed through some impressive-looking gates which lead to the posh Dunkeld House Hotel. I had to double check this was correct, before heading through.

The hotel has a great location, overlooking some deep salmon pools on the Tay, with anglers hard at work heaving their long fly lines out into the river. I stopped for a moment to look before continuing along the path, which unfortunately for me, became a rough gravel and mud track to which my road bike was not well suited. About a mile later, the bone shaking ended when the path came out at the A9, where it contined along the pavement of a high bridge over the Tay. The cars were racing past, making it not very pleasant, but it wasn’t long before I was leaving the noise and fury behind and following a minor road northwards through forestry.

Around this time, the sky had become more cloudy, with the occasional light shower blowing past; luckily not lasting more than a few minutes at a time. The road was quite undulating, with sharp ups and downs, making it harder work to progress. I was beginning to feel like a rest, so a lunch stop at Pitlochry in a few miles was definitely in order.

I came to a wooden footbridge over the Tay at Logierait, where a sign said you cross at your own risk. There were also several workmen in orange overalls inspecting the bridge as I crossed, but it still looked pretty sturdy so I tried not to worry! At Logierait, I then crossed the A827, following the route 77 signs, then went steeply uphill for a while, till the road flattened off again after the cemetary. After that hard work, I had to stop for a little bite of energy to keep me going to lunchtime.

Another shower came and went before I got to Pitlochry and stopped at some benches near a monument on the main street (Atholl Road). The bench was wet, so I sat on my waterproof and got stuck into my sandwiches. I was about halfway through when the rain started again. It was only light rain, and it hardly bothered me – I was more interested in enjoying my lunch. After I finished, I popped over the road to the cafe to use their loo, and also bought a slice of rocky road, which I had as my 2nd course back on the bench in the drizzle.

By the time I was ready to get going after my brief lunch stop, the rain had stopped and the sun was shining again. The road was a little busy to start, but after I went past the exit to the A9, it went quiet again. My route took me towards Killiekrankie, approaching which I saw a sign next to the road heralding the start of the “Pass of Killiekrankie” and also a 14% gradient warning sign beside it. I thought “Oh no, this is going to be hard…” but after the first short rise, there was no more. Not that I was complaining!

A few miles of mostly flattish road took me as far as Blair Atholl. I was ahead of schedule with some time to kill, so when I noticed an area with benches and a small shop next to it, I thought about relaxing with an ice cream in the sun for a while. The shop turned out to be a chip shop and didn’t sell ice creams, so I went for a portion of chips instead. With plenty of salt to replace my electrolytes, very nice they were too!

My final destination, Bruar, was only a short few miles away. I decided that I might as well get there early, and have a coffee while waiting for Colette to arrive. I did that, and as I sat on a bench outside the House of Bruar drinking my coffee, the rain paid me another brief visit. It wasn’t enough to get me soaking wet, but just enough to keep me cool. Nice.

Made it!

Then Colette arrived and the return home went as planned. Now to think about the next stage, which will take me along the most remote part of the road to Inverness. Sounds great – can’t wait!

Last year we explored the Capital (mountain bike) Trail where it crossed the Lammermuirs. This year, I fancied checking it out further, and there looked to be a suitable section running from Yair (near Selkirk) eastwards to Traquair. With a sunny day forecast, Colette and I decided to try it out, and we were joined by our friend Keith, a keen mountain biker who was eager to explore it too.

Starting off from Innerleithen, we first rode to Yair via the single-track road that follows the River Tweed westwards and forms part of National Cycle Route 1. That was a fairly quick ride, even though Keith and I were on our mountain bikes and Colette was on her hybrid.

After about 10 miles, NCR 1 diverges, with a rough track option peeling off to the right. As it was an off-road type of day, we went right. That took us through a country estate on a bumpy road. The road wasn’t at all tricky, but Keith and I managed to get tangled up and both fell off, thankfully at low speed. Not a great start, but it wasn’t enough to put us off.

We got back onto tarmac and were looking for the point where the Capital Trail turns right away from the road and heads up into the hills. We didn’t see anything marked, and all we could find was a gate into a field of long grass, which didn’t look very promising. The other possibility was to use a forest track that started nearby, with the aim of intersecting the Capital Trail further up. We took the latter option and headed up a not too steep and quite well surfaced forestry road.

After a while, we stopped for a rest and a drink, which was when Colette discovered that one of her water bottles had jiggled loose and was lost. That was a bit of a worry, as it was going to be a long day of climbing in the sun, so we would need all the water we could get.

This is where it started to get serious!

Further along, we came to a left turn running steeply uphill. I stopped just in case this was our turn, and yes it was, so I went back a bit for a run-up and set off in low gear. Keith went on ahead and kept pedalling all the way to the top, whereas I stopped after a while and pushed. Keith wasn’t actually going all that much faster to be honest, and I thought it wise not to burn myself out so near the start.

Yes, it really was that steep!

The three of us came together again at the top of the climb, where we met up with the Capital Trail and also the Southern Upland Way, which both followed the same path for most of the rest of the ride. After a quick break, we set off up the steep and rocky walking track, partly cycling, partly pushing. With some effort, we made it to the top of the Three Brethren hill, which takes its name from the three large cairns that stand alongside the white-painted trig point. This was where we planned to have our packed lunch, and at about 1pm, the time and place were both right.

The Three Brethren

The view from the Three Brethren was amazing, with a 360 degree panorama. It felt that we must be at the highest point and that from here it was surely downhill all the way. I don’t know how many times I’ve thought that, only to be disappointed, but I was still feeling optimistic at that point!

The downhill run straight after lunch was quite rocky, but with fat tyres and shock absorbers on my front forks, I was able to build up a decent head of speed as I followed Keith down the track. However Colette’s bike wasn’t built for that kind of punishment, and she had to pick her way down much more slowly and carefully.

This was my favourite part of the ride

Over the next mile or two there were more fun downhill sections, well fun for me and Keith anyway, including a lovely smooth one over short grass. The downhill had to end though, and it did so at a gate, where we met two cyclists coming the other way, just finishing their descent of the next big hill for us to climb. We chatted for a little while, but then had to face the fierce-looking gradient.

It was very hard to push the bikes up such a steep slope on loose gravel, but once we got round the corner the gradient eased. On the other hand, we could now see the climb stretching off into the far distance. This took us up to near the top of Brown Knowe, and at about 1700 ft, we were now significantly higher than we had been at our lunch stop. By the time we reached the top, Colette and I were feeling tired, but Keith still had a spring in his step and shot off down the path on the other side.

After some descending, we came to a fork in the road, with the Minchmoor Road heading down to Yarrowford. We found a couple of guys there, waiting for their Duke of Edinburgh Award charges (a group of four girls) to come into view. We were able to tell them that the girls weren’t far behind. Like us, they were lucky to have such a good day for their expedition.

We carried on westwards, now climbing again, as we passed Minch Moor hill to reach the highest point of our journey. After that, due to the water bottles running low, we abandoned the Capital Trail in favour of the most direct route back, and it really was downhill all the way from there. Normally that’s a good thing, but it was very steep and rocky in places. Add to that the fact that Colette was now very tired and dehydrated and riding a bike that wasn’t ideal for the terrain, and it became quite a slow descent.

It was such a relief to reach tarmac at Traquair, just a short ride away from the car at Innerleithen. We had to stop at the shops for emergency rehydration (and ice cream!), after which we felt so much better. It had been a really tough ride, especially for Colette, but well worth the effort. Now to research a proper mountain bike for Colette…

Back to Midlothian this time, if only for a few miles before heading out into the Borders and East Lothian. It was also another solo effort, as Colette was away visiting her mother.

The day was forecast to be sunny, but about 10 degrees cooler than we’ve had it recently, so I set off with two layers on top. Heading south along the A7, the road was quieter than normal. I rounded a bend to find a fox about to cross the road. He stopped for a moment to figure out what sort of creature I was before smartly trotting over to the other side and disappearing into the undergrowth.

As I got closer to Stow, a few more cars started to appear, but it was certainly nothing like as busy as Mallorca last week. About 13 miles after setting off I reached Stow, and turning left at the turnoff for Lauder, I used my brakes for the first time, and found them wanting. Not totally ineffective, but a bit weedy. I stopped to adjust them and also check my progress. Despite trying to pace myself and take it easy, I was averaging over 15 mph on my heavy hybrid bike. That was a sure sign that the wind had been behind me.

Next was the climb over the hill to Lauder, which I took very gently in lowest gear, as I was keen to reserve as much energy as possible for later in the day. I was actually more worried about going down over the other side, as I still wasn’t completely happy with the brakes. They didn’t cause me any real problems on the descent, although I would have liked to slow down a bit more before I overtook the horse and rider on the downhill. Mind you, I did call out in plenty of time to let them know I was coming.

Lauder came and went, and I ambled my way to the village of Westruther on the B6456. After that, I was on the lookout for the first left turn, which was part of my plan for a shortcut to Longformacus. I got there, checked my map, then turned left. It wasn’t long before I stopped again though, as I was now heading back into the wind and it felt decidedly chilly. Luckily I’d packed an extra layer, so on it went and on I went…

Gently climbing, the road was verged by a narrow strip of woodland on either side, after which I came to farms and some steeper climbs. On one short sharp climb, a Land Rover came up behind me and I stopped on the verge to let it pass on the narrow road. Getting back going on the steep gradient, I managed to twist my hip somehow and it really hurt. I had to stop again and wait a few moments, cursing myself for being so stupid as to stop on a steep hill. Luckily, there was no lasting damage and I was able to continue, feeling a bit silly.

The tarmac ran out at Wedderlie, after which I continued on one of the two strips of bumpy concrete that took its place. I was glad that I didn’t bring my road bike – I didn’t know what the surface was going to be like but I had anticipated it being less than perfect in places!

The road after the concrete section continued as hard-packed gravel, seemingly fairly recently laid, serving the wind farm beyond. As I continued, the Lammermuir hills opened up before me in the sunshine, looking remote and stark and impressive in all their brownness.

This could be anywhere in the Lammermuirs…

Sounds of gunfire shattered the tranquility, making me a little apprehensive as I grew closer to their origin. At first I convinced myself that it was clay pigeon shooting, as there were definite double bangs, as if shotguns were being used. Eventually I discovered a number of shooters surrounding a small plantation of trees, downing the crows that were circling above. I presume that the crow armageddon was serving some useful purpose, but I didn’t hang around to ask, and was happy when the sound had disappeared into the distance.

A little later, I noticed that my front mudguard was flapping around. The bumpiness of the road had taken its toll, and the “bracket” holding the mudguard in place had snapped. It wasn’t a proper bracket as such, just some flimsy strips of metal that I had cobbled together to serve the purpose when I first fitted the mudguards, although that temporary solution had worked until now. Luckily I had the right tools to take off the broken bits, which I replaced with a simple cable tie. Not perfect, but good enough to get me home.

Good to know you’re on the right track

At some point, this road merged with the Southern Upland Way, and I began to see wooden signs helpfully telling me how far to Longformacus, and importantly, which direction to go. That meant I didn’t miss the right turn that took me to Watch Water Reservoir.

As soon as I reached the reservoir, the track turned back into paved road, but still with some serious potholes, so it was still important to keep the eyes peeled. Although remote, the reservoir was actually relatively busy with anglers. Well, there were at least half a dozen cars parked there. It was certainly a very peaceful and beautiful spot for me to stop and eat my sandwich.

What a lovely place to stop for lunch. Trying to ignore the fact that I was sitting on a thistle.

Leaving the reservoir, there was a stiff little climb, which I took at a nice slow pace, then the road became iffy once more as it passed through Rawburn Farm. After that, it was fun, twisty, turny all the way to Longformacus, with a few scary potholes thrown in to keep you on your toes.

Reaching the T-junction at the village of Longformacus, I turned left and was straight away going uphill again. I wasn’t certain about how many climbs there were to come, but I knew there were quite a lot and that I needed to just take it slow, enjoy the scenery and not worry about it. So that’s exactly what I did.

Tip: don’t try to cycle over this at 30mph…

After a wee while, I came to a familiar sight – the cattle grid where I had the double blow-out earlier in the year, and where I was lucky to escape without injury. Well, despite having sent a report to the relevant council about it, nothing has yet been done, and there is still a protruding blade of iron in the middle of the grid waiting to catch unwary cyclists. Ah well, at least I tried.

While I plodded slowly uphill, several road cyclists going the opposite way sped past in a hurry, making me feel very much the tortoise. But as we all know, the tortoise gets there eventually, and pushing slowly in the lowest gear was saving energy that I knew I’d need later.

A little later, I was going slow enough to spot something interesting in the road and stop before shooting past. It looked just like a snake, and on closer inspection, it certainly was a snake (later identified as an adder). It was just a baby, about 6 inches long, and was badly injured though still alive after apparently being run over. I moved it to the verge and left it there, as I couldn’t bring myself to kill it, even if that would have been the kindest thing.

The snake-related sadness stayed with me for a while as I pootled onwards, then all of a sudden, the hills seemed to stop and I could see the Pentlands in the distance. I had reached the top! I stopped for a wee rest and took on some more food and drink before setting off on a long downhill run.

I turned left at Danskine and headed for Humbie by way of the Pishwanton road. Just before Humbie, on the nicely resurfaced road, I turned right along the B6371 for Windy Mains. That meant some up and down and up again, by which time my legs were definitely beginning to get weary.

The final 7 or 8 miles of familiar road that were needed to complete the journey started to become tedious. I know that’s the wrong attitude, especially as I’d told myself that today was all about the journey. It was about taking it easy and enjoying the sunshine, the views and the wildlife. For most of the journey, I’d give myself about a 7 out of 10 in that, but now that little voice was saying you just want it to be over and done with. This is when it would be so much better to have company, but being solo, and with tired legs, the last part was not so enjoyable. As soon as I got home though, all that was forgotten (until I decided to write this) and I was able to enjoy a hot shower, a hot cup of tea and bask in some warm endorphins with my feet up in front of the telly… Nice.

Colette and I booked a week in Mallorca back in November, along with a big group of our cycling buddies. As it turned out, she wasn’t able to go, but she insisted that I still go, as there were plenty of friends to keep me company.

All but one of us rented bikes from the various hire companies in Puerto Pollensa, where we were based. I opted for a flat-barred road bike rather than the usual drop bars, as I find that extended braking with drop bar handlebars gives me a pain in the forearm and elbow. There were going to be lots of long descents, so I went for the unfashionable flat bar option. That narrowed down the options of hire companies, and several of us hired the same type of bike from the same company. We got a good deal on price, but they clearly don’t do any routine maintenance on the bikes or even check them over before sending them out. We all had to go back to the shop multiple times to get problems sorted out, while the owner grumbled and mumbled oaths in Spanish while reluctantly fixing our problems. If you want to avoid the same problems, then don’t deal with the hire company with a month in its name. In contrast, all those going to 2GoCyling had a great experience.

We were also very pleased with the Hotel Daina, where we were staying, and in the Daina bar on the second evening, after a couple of beers, Scott persuaded me to sign up for a ride along the mountain road on the Thursday. What happens is that a bus takes you and your bike to Andratx on the west side of the Serra de Tramuntana mountain range, then you ride all the way back to the east coast, where we were based. It seemed like a massive challenge, and as the big day approached, I began to get a little nervous and frankly regretted my hasty decision to sign up for the ride.

I didn’t sleep well the night before and was awake when the alarm went off at 6am. We had to leave before breakfast but Scott had arranged for the hotel to give us a “packed breakfast” to eat on the bus. So a total of nine of us cycled off to the pickup point at the Duva Hotel, where we joined more cyclists to almost fill a whole coach, which pulled our bikes in a trailer behind.

We set off on a lovely sunny morning, with the mountains to our right as we headed down the motorway towards Palma, then turning off for Andratx. Then, with less than 10 miles to go, the bus started making a terrible noise. One of the guys in the back shouted you’ve got a puncture, and the driver pulled off to the side of the road. He went out to have a look, with traffic screaming past at high speed.

Now, I had done a quick mental calculation that given my slow average speed, we were going to get back in the early evening. If a replacement bus needed to be called out, that could set us back by over an hour and we would be in danger of getting back after dark. Some of us thought about getting our bikes out and cycling to the start point, which wasn’t far away, but doing that on the busy motorway would have been impossible. Finally, after about 15 minutes or so, the driver got back into his seat and got going again. I’m not sure what he did, but he drove on, with the shuddery, grating noise now only intermittent.

Thankfully, we got to our destination without having to stop again. I got out and looked around the bus but didn’t see any wrecked tyres, so I’m not sure what the problem was. Whatever it was, we just left the driver to deal with it. We got our bikes out and faffed around for a few minutes, getting ready for the off. Sadly, we left behind one of the cyclists from another party, or maybe he had just come alone. It looked like he had a problem with the tubeless tyre on his back wheel and was phoning for help as we departed. I felt really sorry for him, but we had to get going.

We were going uphill from the off, but it was a nice easy gradient. It was also made easier by my decision to pace myself and not hare off, as the route was over 70 miles long with a phenomenal amount of climbing. Alison had the same idea, so we made up the rear end of our group, and continued to do so throughout all the climbs.

It wasn’t long before we had climbed a significant height and had a good view down to Andratx town, nestling in a bowl below us. We rejoined the rest of the group at the top of Coll de sa Gramola. We were all feeling good, and if all the climbs were like that, I felt the whole ride should be quite manageable.

The group in good spirits after the first climb

Next came our first descent. This was taken with some caution, as two of our number, Colin and Susan, had attempted this ride before and abandoned after Colin came off his bike at the first tight hairpin bend and had to go to hospital. We took the descent carefully, though some were a bit more cautious than others. However, when we reached the next climb, it wasn’t long before most had gone past me again, especially after my chain came off when changing down.

The group then came together at the village of Estellencs, after which we covered some undulating ground, with views out to the sea. Following that we had more proper climbing to do, with a few steeper sections thrown in.

At some point along this road, we ran into Willie, who hadn’t come on the bus, but started cycling the mountain road from the other direction, planning to meet up with us along the way. He must have gone like the clappers to reach us so soon!

We carried on eastwards until we regrouped at the top of Coll den Claret. After that, we carried on as far as the village of Deia, which was reached following a long, sweeping, and for once, quite relaxing descent.

We stopped at a roadside cafe in Deia for a break. It was now 1pm, so lunch was in order. I got myself a small caffeine hit, and most of us ordered filled baguettes, which are quite a popular lunch option in Mallorca. My water bottles were nearly empty, so I filled up from the tap in the loo. Although some are fussy, the water in Mallorca is perfectly safe to drink (or at least that’s what I told myself!).

At lunch in Deia – photo by Janette Lee

Next, we had the usual problem encountered whenever you pull over in Mallorca, which is trying to get back out into the stream of traffic. The roads can get very busy, not just with cyclists, but also with cars. It had got steadily busier since we started and it didn’t help that the cafe was located on a sharp corner, but we finally got going again, heading in the direction of Soller.

A small climb and another descent took us all the way down to nearly sea level at the town of Soller. This was the only point along the route where we might have taken a wrong turn, so we made sure to follow the Ma-10 road out of town, with the navigation being handled by Scott.

Leaving Soller brought us to the foot of the island’s tallest mountain, Puig Major. I’m fairly sure it was here, as the gradient gradually started to increase, that we came across the only accident that we saw on the ride. There was a cyclist on the ground, holding his upper arm, while others looked on with concern. A car had stopped on the other side of the road and someone was on the phone, so we concluded that it was all in hand, and just carried on. It was probably just a simple spill following the coming together of bikes and didn’t look serious. With the speed and closeness that I got passed by lots of cyclists, it’s a wonder that we didn’t see much more of this.

Anyway, as the climb began in earnest, I changed down to my granny gear and the chain came off again. As we were going uphill, this slowed me down to a stop very quickly and Alistair ran into the back of me. No harm done, but after that, I made sure to warn people before changing down.

Having hit the steeper gradient, our group stretched out ahead of me, and most of them disappeared into the distance quite quickly. It took me over an hour and a half to cover the 14km from Soller to the top. At first, I was enjoying the views, but then I became more interested in counting down the yellow kilometer markers. The second part of the climb was really taxing on the legs, which made me also look out for possible stopping places to rest my weary legs. When it got to that point, I became obsessed with counting down every little white 100 metre marker on the road.

While I was sat nibbling on a biscuit and swigging water at one of my stops, Willie went past. He had taken the detour to Fornalutx, eaten an ice cream and then caught up. He told me I’d broken the back of the climb, but I was more worried that the climb might have broken me.

Still, I carried on and after a long slog, I eventually caught sight of the viewpoint layby ahead, next to the entrance to the Monnaber tunnel which takes the road through to the other side of the mountain. The euphoria allowed me to change up a gear or two, and I arrived with a smile on my face. Nobody told my legs though, which were distinctly and unexpectedly wobbly when I climbed off the bike.

Selfie with Wille taken using my sunscreen-smeared phone at the Tunnel de Monnaber

We posed for a group photo, then carried on through the tunnel, which took us to the highest point before the road started to descend into the Blue Gorge, past several reservoirs in picturesque locations. I was definitely tired by this time, so I made sure to go nice and slow and not take any chances on the descent.

At the turnoff for the coastal village of Sa Calobra, next to an aqueduct, there is a small roadside cafe. We had stopped there a few days earlier on our visit to the village, and we halted there again on this ride for ice cream and to top up the water bottles. The sun had disappeared behind cloud by this time and it started to get a little cool. So most of us put on an extra layer to cope with the cooling effect of the descent to come.

After an undulating section, most of the rest of the ride was downhill, but since I was tired, it required a lot of concentration, and as a consequence, it wasn’t as enjoyable as the previous time. There was also a lot of traffic at this time (about 6pm), with a traffic jam at one of the junctions. As we waited for a chance to move off, we witnessed an impatient cyclist overtaking a bus, and he narrowly avoided being squashed against a line of stationary cars. Why the rush? You’re on holiday!

I descended wearily to Pollensa, where most of us came together again, and we rode the last few miles in convoy along the flat road to Porto Pollensa. At last we arrived at the hotel at around 6.45pm, a bit earlier than I’d anticipated, with my moving average speed at 11mph. That was amazing – much better than I expected, even if I was among the slowest people ever to complete the route (according to Strava). Still, even to complete it was way beyond what I thought myself capable of. So thanks to Scott for (gently) pushing me into it. Now I need to persuade Colette to go there with me again to get some proper photos of the fantastic scenery!

Colette has been up in Beauly looking after her mum, and it was turning into a longer visit than expected, so I decided to go up and join her for a couple of days. During that time, we wanted to get out for a wee cycle to de-stress, and this route popped into my mind. It’s one that I’ve pondered for some time, with its daunting climb, but this was the first time we’d managed to give it a go…

On our chosen morning, the sky was dull, with a light drizzle. Not exactly perfect weather, especially as it was apparently glorious back home, but there was no way we weren’t going to get out. We headed south out of Beauly then took the right turn before Lovat Bridge, sending us up the A831.

Colette was delighted to be back out on her bike and stormed ahead, while I did my best to keep up. It helped to pedal in time to the musical earworm in my head, which was “Everybody wants to rule the world”, presumably because Rule the World was the winner in the Grand National the day before.

The River Beauly was on our left as we gradually made our way westwards and upstream. The still, misty weather was quite atmospheric, so Colette couldn’t resist stopping for a photo above one of the hydro dams, where the river was deep and still.

Soon we went past a sign for Breakachy, where for some reason my earworm changed to a certain Shaking Stevens number! Aaargh!!!

Colette couldn’t pass by her fave gates without another photo…

Colette was also looking for a photo of the mist hanging on the hillsides, but she couldn’t find quite the right composition. Then the drizzle died away and the sun made a brief appearance, just enough to burn back the hill mist into low cloud. I’m assuming that the particularly damp microclimate in this river valley supports the unusually strong growth of lichen (moss?) which was festooning the trees, and which was all the more obvious as they weren’t yet in leaf. It all adds to the special feeling of the place.

The Holy Well of St. Ignatius

As we got closer to Cannich, we spotted a strange structure on the right and stopped for a closer look. It was the Holy Well of St. Ignatius, complete with a metal drinking ladle on a chain. Sadly however, the well is no longer functioning, with just a rusty dribble running down the front, looking like a baby’s bib after a breakfast of Coco Pops. The inscription was really cute, so I’ve taken the liberty of repeating it below…

WATER BRIGHT WATER, PURE WATER FOR ME,

THE DRINK OF THE WISE, THE WINE OF THE FREE;

IT COOLETH THE BROW, IT COOLETH THE BRAIN,

IT MAKETH THE FAINT ONE GROWN STRONG AGAIN,

COMES O’ER THE SENSE LIKE A BREEZE FROM THE SEA,

ALL FRESHNESS, LIKE SWEET INFANT PURITY .-

 

THEN FILL TO THE BRIM, FILL, FILL TO THE BRIM,

LET THE FLOWING CRYSTAL KISS THE CUP’S RIM,

FOR MY EYE IS STEADY,- MY HEART IS TRUE,-

FOR I, LIKE THE FLOWERS, DRINK NOTHING BUT DEW,

SO WATER FOR ME, BRIGHT WATER FOR ME,

THE DRINK OF THE WISE, THE WINE OF THE FREE.-

 

GLASSBURN, STRATHGLASS  1880.

Pressing on, we arrived at Cannich and almost missed the sharp left turn straight after the bridge, which takes you to Drumnadrochit. I knew from the map that we had a bit of a climb coming up soon. Nothing like the later one, but it was wise to stop and have a wee snack to fuel up before attempting it.

The climb out of Cannich was steady but never particularly difficult, and gave a nice view back down the valley from where we’d come. The road then swung east, and finally, we reached the top. As soon as we started heading down the other side, the rain started again.

We made quite good time initially, as we were heading mostly downhill, but then the rain got steadily heavier, and we naturally slowed down a bit. Fairly soon, I was pretty-well soaked through on the legs and feet, but my rain jacket kept the rest of me nice and dry.

Luckily, the really heavy rain didn’t last long, and it was dry again as we passed by Loch Meiklie. The turnoff for Cul na Kirk (the really steep climb) was on our left, and I tried not to look too closely as we went past it on our way to Drumnadrochit. We would be coming back to it soon enough.

In the meantime we were looking for our cafe stop, so we carried on into the village, inserting ourselves into the post-church traffic. After I tried to take us the wrong direction at the junction with the A82, Colette led the way to the Glen Cafe, a place she had been to dozens of times in her youth. Reassuringly (perhaps?) it had scarcely changed in all this time.

The cafe was surprisingly busy as we entered, whereupon my wet cycling shoes slipped on the slick flooring and I did an impromptu tap dance routine in order to stay upright. What a way to make an entrance – I should have taken a bow!

We ordered paninis and a pot of tea, then warmed up and dried out as we waited. Judging by the variety of accents and languages coming from the other tables, it was clear that Loch Ness tourist season was well under way already. In contrast however, we didn’t hear a peep out of the couple sat at the table next to us, who ate their meal in sullen silence. He was sporting a black eye, and we couldn’t help pondering quietly to ourselves what was their story…

The food arrived, and though I was happy with my panini, Colette had bacon on hers which was about 50% fat and required disassembly and dissection to remove the offending white stuff. On another day, that might have been enough to put her off, but after today’s efforts she was too hungry not to scoff down her delipidated, and by now frankly delapidated panini.

With lunch done, we backtracked a mile or so, then got down to the serious business of facing the fearsome Cul na Kirk climb. As with all such climbs, Colette and I both do it at our own pace, so I went off in front, not stopping till I got to the top.

There’s a 15% gradient warning at the bottom, and after getting round the first corner, it certainly got steep very quickly. Maybe not quite 15%, but enough to concentrate the mind. I got into a rhythm, this time to another “favourite” earworm that is especially annoying, as I can’t for the life of me find out what it’s called. It’s an instrumental number, probably from the 60s or 70s, and it all started about a month ago, when a lapwing unwittingly called out the opening notes. Now it won’t leave my head. I could hum it to you if you like… but best not.

At the end of the first steep section, the gradient eases as you go round a recently widened corner. After that, the steepest bit looms large, and I had to drop to my lowest gear, cycling just fast enough to stay upright. At that point, a tractor pulling a digger was coming down the hill towards me, doing a very good job of slow, low gear driving. I was afraid that cars might come up behind it and want to overtake, but I got lucky. These things serve to take your mind off the struggle to some extent, and helped me reach the less steep final section without having to stop.

After the climb, Loch na Ba Ruaidhe

After that, the climb petered out, and I stopped in the first layby after the road started going down again. Colette joined me and we continued along the road as it undulated through rugged moorland. A few miles later, we reached Ardendrain and came to a steep, straight descent, freewheeling down at about 40mph. That fairly speeded up our approach to Beauly, which was now only a few miles away, and still mostly downhill all the way there. It didn’t take long before we were back and putting the kettle on.

To sum up, that was a brilliant ride, one of the best I’d say, taking us through such beautiful contryside. I doubt that we could have enjoyed it much more even if it was sunshine all the way.

A change from the Lothians this time: our cycling buddy Susan offered to take us on a tour of the countryside surrounding her home town of Crieff in Perthshire. Nine of us arranged to meet at Macrosty Park in Crieff, but Colette and I arrived ahead of the meetup time, so that Colette could catch up with an old friend who now lives in Crieff. Fiona and her younger son Struan met us in the park, bringing a flask of coffee and some tasty beetroot brownies. It was a lovely way to start the day and the coffee was very welcome, as it was a bit nippy first thing.

Once the others arrived, we got our bikes ready, said cheerio to Fiona and Struan, then headed off in search to the nearest loos. They would be the ones at the top of Macrosty park, so we followed the path up a set of hairpin bends to the toilets, only to find that they were out of order. Luckily, Susan’s brother has a garage almost nextdoor, and he was happy for us to use their toilet.

As an orderly queue was developing, I realised that I’d left the water bottles in the car, so I went back to retrieve them. After coming back up the hill, any lingering chill had left me, and I was raring to go.

Susan led the group out of Crieff and into the countryside, heading for Comrie. The road was gently undulating, with a good view over to the River Earn on our right. We met a long line of parked cars as we entered Comrie, and it wasn’t long before we realised their significance: there was a large congregation of black-clad figures gathered at the centre of the cemetary. We all stopped chatting and whirred past quietly.

At the next junction, several of us removed our outer layers as it was feeling a little warmer, then we pushed on towards more hilly country. As we rounded the first part of the climb, we could see a large array of Nissen huts on the flat land to the right. That was Cultybraggan, a preserved WWII prisoner of war camp. Fiona remembered bringing her son there while he was at school, for army cadet training. The accommodation certainly looks bleak and uninviting, but presumably (hopefully) character forming.

The climb that followed was fantastic from a cycling point of view, with a good surface and a gradient that never got challenging, and with enough turns to keep the view fresh and interesting. We made our way into proper moorland, greeted by the calling of lapwings. The infrequent farmhouses suddenly felt very remote and isolated. Then a red kite flew past very close overhead and I felt so lucky to be there.

View to the Perthshire hills after the long climb

We paused at the top of the climb for some sweets and a swig from the water bottle then continued along a flat section of moor road for a few miles before getting into a fast downhill. Lots of freewheeling fun to be had there, before we stopped next to a T-junction. To our left there was an impressive, perfectly-formed pine tree with a plaque alongside. As it turned out, the tree was incidental and the lumpy ground surrounding it was the remains of a Roman fort. Apparently, Crieff was about as far north as the Romans ever managed to get.

Nice tree and some welcome sunshine

The route then took us right, heading towards Braco but we veered east before reaching the town and through some undulating countryside. We passed some recently felled forest on our left, then some newly-planted trees on our right. A group of deer spotted us passing from inside the latter enclosure then bounded off. It was as if they knew they weren’t supposed to be in there.

Further on, the road started to climb a bit more steadily, then inexplicably got wider and better surfaced. We went past a bus-turning place, apparently in the middle of nowhere, then we came alongside a golf course on our right. This, Susan explained, was one of the Gleneagles courses, and I expect that this road is where coaches come to park during big golfing events.

Very soon, we arrived at the entrance for Gleneagles hotel, and we all cycled in. We passed the hotel on our left, looking not quite as grand as I might have expected if I’m truthful. The grounds however were immaculate. There was a lovely loch on our left and the prestigious golf course and headquarters of the PGA were on our right. Fairly soon, we were back out on public roads, turning left then right, heading for Auchterarder.

After getting to Auchterarder, or the “lang toon” as it’s known, we stopped outside the Synergy Cycles bike shop. This is a very upmarket bike shop, befitting its location in the heart of wealthy Perthshire, but the most important thing for us at that point was its cafe. Susan had called ahead and reserved us the central table which was perfect for our group of nine. So we chose from soup, filled rolls and paninis, and had a great lunch, surrounded by an impressive display of sleek, high quality racing bikes. The staff were very friendly and helpful, and we left in good spirits, ready for the rest of the ride.

Leaving Auchterarder, we passed through farmland and came up to a tractor on the road ahead. Scott sped up to catch it and get some slipstreaming effect. It’s unusual to be faster than a modern tractor, but this one was of an earlier vintage, so he pulled over to let us past. Nice of him yes, but that meant we now had to push on, no slacking! Over the next bridge, there was a hill, so Scott and I had to put in quite an effort to stay ahead of the tractor. Luckily the hill wasn’t too long, and we stopped at the next junction to await directions from Susan. We exchanged waves with the tractor as it headed east, then our group went west at the junction, on our way back to Crieff.

As we cycled on, Colin explained that we were coming to an interesting place called Innerpeffary, with the country’s oldest lending library. They have some rare manuscripts too, including some by Robert Burns. We paused at the Innerpeffary turnoff. It turned out that the library was closed, and it was nearly a mile down the path to get a look at it. The decision was made to give it a miss this time and we carried on.

A little later, a headcount revealed that Colin was missing off the back. Someone quipped that he was taking his books back, but when he returned a different colour, it was clear that he’d just stopped to put on his jacket.

An impressive gatehouse

So we carried on, arriving at the village of Gilmerton, then taking the left for Monzie. It was uphill a little through woodland, then a nice glide down towards our afternoon coffee stop at Glenturret distillery, the home of the “Famous Grouse experience”. We were greeted by a massive copper-plated grouse at the car park, where a group photo was called for. The bikes were then parked and it was into the cafe for teas and coffees. Sadly no time for whisky tasting this time, but it was a very comfortable place for a break and a chat before finishing off for the day.

The Famous Grouse was hard to miss

It was literally just a mile further down the road that we reached Macrosty park again from the opposite side. Time to pack everything away and head home. We all had a very enjoyable time, and all thanks to Susan for opening our eyes to the delights of cycling in Perthshire.

With a lovely sunny day forecast, Colette and I made sure to spend it cycling, hoping to get around 40 miles in for the first time in ages. We were joined by Lynne and Keith, and then Fiona decided to come along too, making it five of us.

There was some very thin ice in the puddles as we set off towards Borthwick, but no sheet ice or black ice this time thankfully. I cycled over the spot where I’d fallen three weeks earlier, this time without mishap, with only my stubborn hip haematoma* to remind me of that day. (*or my “lady hip” as it has become known!)

Soon we were cycling down the Vogrie road, telling Fiona how it had been shut recently for road works, and all we got were a paltry few potholes crudely filled in. We were surprised to find it shut again just beyond Vogrie country park entrance, but we had to eat our words, as this time the crew was busy replacing the whole stretch of tarmac, almost as far as Dewartown. They let us through, as there was space for the bikes to squeeze past the machinery. It is going to be a great smooth ride next time, with those awful potholes consigned to history!

After Dewartown, Keith persuaded me to take the shortcut via Ford. There were groans from behind though, as that meant a steep climb before we reached Pathhead. It certainly warmed us up!

From the junction at Pathhead, we crossed the A68 and cycled past the entrance to Preston Hall. From there, we zig-zagged our way to West Saltoun, then onwards to its easterly counterpart. Although it was quite cold, the sun was shining and we were working hard enough to stay pleasantly warm. Colette was certainly pushing hard, as she shot past all of us whenever we reached a hill. All her time on the turbo trainer seems to be paying off!

After East Saltoun, we took the B6355 towards Gifford. Our idea was to visit the cafe at Castle Park Golf Counse for a light lunch. That meant taking a right before Gifford and cycling southeast for a further mile or so before reaching the entrance to the golf course.

On our last few visits, there were preparations being made to extend the clubhouse, during which time the cafe was a temporary one in the conservatory. We had expected to see the finished article this time round, but we were confronted with a building site, looking distinctly not finished. In fact, the cafe had been further demoted to a portacabin with a chemical toilet alongside. I was a bit apprehensive at first, but the same warm welcome was there and the same tasty filled rolls were on offer. I can’t see past the Stornaway black pudding!

According to Craig, the owner, much of the structure is pre-fabricated panels (which were sitting waiting in the car park) so the work should be finished around the end of the month. We will definitely return mid-March to check on progress.

After our lunch, upon emerging from the warm cabin, the cold wind seemed to bite. We hadn’t noticed it much on the way there, but we were going to be heading into it on the way back. The only option was to get going quickly, in order to get warmed up again.

We headed to Longyester, then past Pishwanton and the colourful hamlet of Long Newton to shouts of “Look, just like Tobermory!”. From there, we used the minor roads as much as possible, while heading towards Humbie. Just before Humbie, we took the right fork going first up, then down towards Keith Water before going back up again quite steeply. We paused at the top of the climb, where Fiona dispensed wine gums to boost our depleted energy levels.

After that, we were heading towards the saw mill at Windy Mains. The last time I went past a few weeks ago, this road was closed for resurfacing, but that meant we were now able to enjoy the results. Let’s hope this trend continues!

Continuing past the saw mill, we reached the ford, where we all wisely walked our bikes across the footbridge. The ladies all wisely walked their bikes up the following hill too, but I like the challenge of cycling up it, even if I am no faster.

Pressing on, we got as far as the A68, where we stopped for another wine gum hit before braving the main road for a minute, bringing us to the Tynehead turnoff. The sugar certainly put a spring in my step; so much so that Keith and I found ourselves quite far ahead of the ladies, who were finding the headwind quite hard going along the Tynehead road. At least we weren’t too far from home, with only the fast downhill A7 stretch to complete. Knowing that Colette had prepared a batch of scones just before we left spurred me onwards, getting me home first to put the kettle on. Tea and scones all round – just what we needed after that bracing ride back. And an energetic day out cycling in the sunshine was just what I needed for a good night’s sleep as well…

As usual at this time of year, our cycling days have been few and far between. This is mostly down to the weather, and when we do manage to get out, we are weighed down with cumbesome winter clothing slowing our progress. Add to that the limited hours of light, and it’s little wonder we get so few miles done in late December / early January.

Just the week before, I tried a cycle on a cold morning and ended up skidding on ice, landing on my hip. That gave me the biggest bruise ever but luckily it has had no effect on my ability to cycle, other than making me even more wary of wintry conditions. The lure of safe virtual cycling indoors (i.e. Zwift!) is strong, but it’s just not the same. I was looking forward to our scheduled Lothian Cyclists Monday ride but the weather just wasn’t safe enough and it had to be called off. But wait, there was a weather window on the following day, so  a few of us jumped at the chance of a frost-free ride, and met for a cycle along the East Lothian coast.

We arrived at Longniddry just as Scott was finishing up sorting out Fiona’s bike ready for the outing. Scott was the one with the bright idea to venture out, whilst Angus brought the local knowledge to fill in some of the gaps on the fledgeling route with good, quiet back roads.

So off we went eastwards along the coast road to start with. The day was a bit dull, but at about 4 degrees C, there was no risk of ice. There was also virtually no wind, and as we rode past Gosford estate, the tide was in and the sea completely flat calm. In short, it was a perfectly benign winter’s day. Being well wrapped up, if felt like a great day to get back out on our bikes again.

After passing through Aberlady, we turned away from the coast and along more quiet roads taking us gradually upwards. We took a right turn before Kingston then started heading south, towards East Fortune. By this time, we were beginning to think about a cafe stop. We passed by a few possibilities at Merryhatton and East Linton on our way to the tiny cafe at Tyninghame. This cafe has changed ownership since I last went there, so making sure the blueberry scones were as good as before was our major concern.

The Tyninghame Smiddy cafe, with outdoor seating for the hardy

As we arrived, it seemed busy. That was a worry, as at this time of the year you don’t really want to end up sitting outside. Luckily, the new owners have removed most of the craft displays from the adjoining room to make space for more tables, so we could be accommodated. Colette and I managed to order the last two blueberry scones, so it was down to us to come up with the verdict. Well, they weren’t quite as good as the old ones, but it has to be said that they were a fair bit bigger, which makes up for it and certainly won’t put me off coming back!

Colette found this grumpy-looking chap sitting outside the cafe.

After our tea break, next stop was Haddington for lunch, so we headed off along the old A1 as far as East Linton, then past Hailes Castle on the cycle route. Fairly soon, we arrived in Haddington and parked our bikes outside the Italian cafe. There’s such a big choice there, it was hard to make my mind up, but ended up getting the macaroni and chips, in common with Scott and Angus, while the ladies opted for lentil soup. It might sound like we’re obsessed with our food, and it’s true that these cycle rides are as much about the food and blether as the actual cycling; the trick is getting the balance right!

So the talk turned to how we were going to get back to the starting point. The old railway path is the most direct and quickest, but we had time to do more, so I suggested that we add a few more miles. With that in mind, Angus led us out of Haddington and up a steep hill heading towards the Hopetoun monument. We then turned left and went along what I think Angus called Bangly Brae, where we started going back downhill again.

Hopetoun monument in the distance

The afternoon was pressing on and it was just starting to get darker when Colette found that she had a puncture. I did my best to remove the offending thorn and replaced the inner tube with a patched spare that Colette was carrying. Well, we hadn’t gone far before I noticed that Colette’s tyre was flat again. Off with the tyre again, and I couldn’t find any sign of a thorn or anything to have caused this second puncture. So maybe there was a problem with the spare tube? We didn’t have another spare of the right size, but thankfully Fiona did, so we were able to carry on.

Ah, the joys of roadside repairs…

By this time, we had our lights on and were looking for the most direct way back, which was to join up with the railway track for the last mile or two. And so we arrived back at Longniddry to load our bikes back on the car in the fading light, having made best use of dull and an otherwise unremarkable winter’s day.