Cycling in Midlothian (and elsewhere)

With a spot of nice weather in the forecast, it looked like a good time to go and bag another one of Simon Warren’s top Scottish climbs. This time, Tinnis Hill, starting from Newcastleton.

When planning the route, I noticed it was really quite hilly in the general area, so a ride of a shade under 30 miles would be plenty, as I wanted to make sure Colette would remember the experience fondly afterwards!

We drove down the A7 to Langholm and parked in the practically empty car park next to the river, then headed off south through the town and out as far as the traffic lights, where we went straight ahead onto a minor and quite bumpy road. A significant tail wind helped us initially, as we played postie piggyback along the undulating rural road. After a few miles, the postie reached the end of his round and turned back, but we carried on south, till we stopped to look at the view from a high bridge over the River Esk.

From there, we headed towards the A7, but cut off left just before onto a minor road that runs parallel, as far as the village of Canonbie. Our plan was then to follow the B6357 all the way to Newcastleton, but we had to stop and re-evaluate when we were faced with a Road Closed Ahead sign, with no suggested detour other than a vague instruction to “use the A7”.

A bit of checking on the Roadworks Scotland website showed where the closure was, so we were able to follow the B6357 as far as the crossroads at Harelaw, then take a detour to the right. The road as far as Harelaw included a couple of fairly steep climbs, but our detour started promisingly with a fast downhill, taking us over the border into Cumbira.  Then the road turned sharply onto a steep uphill, which finished with a stiff 16% gradient before levelling off a bit.

Our detour then took us left onto a single track road, with a bit more traffic than you might have expected, most likely due to similarly re-routed locals. The road was very undulating, but despite that, was delightful to ride along. The sun was shining and the views were superb, and we felt lucky to have been diverted along this way, which we would most probably not have chosen otherwise.

After a few miles, we caught sight of the roadwords on the other side of the valley. There were loads of vehicles working along quite a long stretch of road, meaning we’d have had no chance of being let through if we had decided to risk it. Beyond that, we could see the conical shape of Tinnis Hill: our after-lunch destination.

Here was me thinking it was all either up or down

Our fun detour road packed a little surprise in the shape of a couple of hairpin bends before we came to the final descent into Newcastleton. We turned right at the T-junction with the B6357 then on into the town until we reached the Olive Tree cafe. The cafe looked very busy, but luckily there were a couple of small tables free, so we were able to stop for a nice lunch with very enthusiastic service.

Once we got going again, we only needed to go a hundred yards or so before turning left onto Langholm Street. This is where the Tinnis Hill climb began, very quickly getting up to 12% gradient, taking us up and right, past the entrance to the local golf course. After that it eased a bit to something like 4-6% until about a mile in, where the road turned SW and then it flattened off a bit more. With a bit of a tailwind now, I went into the big ring and started to pick up a bit of speed.

It was a little frustrating to have to slow down and briefly stop a few times to let cars past on the very narrow road, but I did my best to put in a decent time (for me) on the segment, and stopped for a rest once I’d passed the end point at the cattle grid at the Borders / Dumfries & Galloway border. Tinnis Hill loomed large from this high vantage point, where over to the south, I could clearly see the Solway Firth opening to the west.

Once Colette caught up, we carried on downhill for a while across the moor, down to a small bridge, where the road began a final climb split up into two ramps totalling about 500 feet. This was a bit of a blow to Colette, who thought we were over after the Tinnis Hill climb!

At the end of the final ramp, we came to various memorials to the local poet, Hugh MacDiarmid, who loved the wildlife of the moors. The info board mentioned wild goats, which I might have noticed if I’d been looking around more. Luckily Colette saw them and stopped for photos before we joined up again.

Next, there was a fast descent which had to be taken carefully due to the blind corners, which brought us out on the A7 just north of Langholm. A quick pedal on the flat took us back to the car park, which was now busy and where an ice cream van was now in residence.

We quickly packed away and made for the van for a couple of cones. Unfortunately, this was the poorest ice cream I’d had in years, but still vaguely edible, and I was definitely ready for some, so I wasn’t going to chuck it away. We didn’t let that spoil the vibe, as it had been a superb day of slow cycling on undulating terrain through glorious countryside. We must explore this area further in the future.

When the day of Oliver’s first sportive ride approached (the Tour of the Borders), we were keen to go and support him somewhere along the route. With the roads being closed to normal traffic, there weren’t all that many places to choose from. However, I remembered cycling off-road to Berrybush from Tibbie Shiels, near St Mary’s Loch a good few years ago,  providing an option so that I could meet him as he passed the Glen Cafe over there.

We drove down to Selkirk, then up the Ettrick valley towards Tushielaw. I dropped Colette off at the junction just before so she could get a head start, then parked at the hotel and cycled back. From the junction, I headed uphill, but I didn’t catch up Colette till nearly the top. We then paused at the top of the climb by the Berrybush sign to find out how Oliver was doing, as he had activated live tracking on his phone. He appeared to be on the Devil’s Beef Tub, heading towards Moffat, making really good time. 

Colette and I now went different ways. I headed off-road into Berrybush forest, following the Captain’s Road off-road track. Colette didn’t fancy going off-road, so she carried on down the normal road to the crossroads at the Gordon Arms, a few miles distant.

Berrybush forest

My route continued going uphill for a while on gravel roads through the forest. It was a lot more open than the last time I passed through, as a lot of the trees had been felled in the intervening years. After the road topped out, it descended for a short while before coming to a gate.

Captain’s Road

After that, Captain’s Road became more of a grassy landrover track, heading quite steeply downhill. The views over towards St Mary’s Loch opened up for a very pleasant, if quite bumpy descent, with plenty of sheep randomly crossing in front, so that I didn’t want to let the speed get up too much.

The road flattened out at Tibbie Shiels, and after crossing the little humpback bridge, I reached the “Road Closed” sign close to the Glen Cafe. I chatted to some of the people waiting around for the riders to arrive, then popped into the cafe for a takeaway coffee. They were busy inside laying out macaroni pies for any of the hungry sportive riders who choose to take a refuelling stop.

Meantime, Colette reached the Gordon Arms crossroads to a round of applause by the waiting stewards. She chatted to them and told them that she was waiting to cheer Oliver on and to take a video of him riding round the corner.

By this time, Oliver was well beyond Moffat, and it didn’t take too long before he was closing in on my position. I was holding a spare water bottle that he had given me, in case he needed it, so I placed myself at the side of the road to hand it over. Pretty soon, a sole rider on a white bike came flying past and I started a stopwatch.

One minute and fifteen seconds later a group of seven riders flew past, with Oliver on the front. He shook his head, indicating that he didn’t want to take the bottle. I was glad of that, as it could have been a bit sketchy at the speed he was going. Then he was past before I could shout any encouragement or even tell him the time gap.

As the riders carried on towards where Colette was waiting, I started heading back up the Captain’s Road. The climb was fairly steep in places, but still manageable in my lowest gear. I actually really enjoyed it, and it made me think about getting back to doing more off-road cycling.

Rounding the corner at the Gordon Arms. Many thanks to the anonymous steward for this photo.

Meantime, Oliver’s group was closing in on Colette. She started taking video, but as they approached, she got overexciting cheering for him and ended up with a video of the road. Luckily, one of the stewards took a photo as they passed, and shared that with Colette.

By the time I got back to Berrybush, Colette was still on her way back up the climb from the crossroads, so I went down to meet her and we continued up together. We paused here and there to check on Oliver’s progress, and by the time we were at Berrybush again, he had finished, crossing the line in third place! 

Cows in no rush to move!

We only had a descent left to get us back to the car, but we had to stop halfway down, as there were cows lying on the road. They got up and gradually moved off when a car arrived. The occupants of the car had been on their way to Oban but had been redirected due to the closed roads. We discussed some options for rerouting with them before getting underway again and returned to the car.

The drive back was a bit frustrating as we were out of phone signal for quite a while before Colette managed to get in touch with Oliver to talk about his experience of the Tour of the Borders. He had a great time and took really well to riding in a fast-paced group, considering he’d never done anything like it before. The rider who was leading when we saw them, Chris Browell, worked really hard and stayed clear of Oliver’s group all the way to the finish. Oliver made a break for it as they closed in on Peebles, but he ran out of legs at the very end, and he was pipped for 2nd place by Nikki Elder on the line. What a great effort, we’re so proud of him!

[As an aside, the timing chip puts Oliver as 7th fastest around the course, as a quirk of where exactly you are in the wave of riders as you file past the start. But forget that, he finished THIRD!!!]

As we haven’t been doing any rides worth talking about recently, I thought I’d go back to last month, when we were on holiday in Aberdovey, Wales. It was a bit of a family gathering, and Oliver and Kirsty and the boys came too. As well as bikes of course.

Oliver was keen to try out some of Simon Warren’s “Greatest cycling climbs” in the area, and there were a few within striking distance. We started by having a crack at the Dyfi forest climb.

We set out at 8.30am on another sunny morning, this being the middle of the early June heatwave of 2023. However, there was a fairly stiff easterly breeze to contend with, and we were heading east from the start.

Pretty soon, Oliver stopped to pick up a Red Bull from the local shop. I carried on, and sure enough, he caught me back up within a few minutes. The coast road we were taking was fairly winding and wooded for much of it, giving us a bit of protection from the headwind. I was a bit worried that the traffic would be heavy with us starting out on the main road at rush hour, but it wasn’t too bad, and everyone waited patiently till they could overtake.

After a while, we reached the top of the Dovey estuary and the turnoff for Machynlleth. We went straight on, and after the roadworks for the new bridge to Mac, we turned right onto a minor road, headed for Aberangell and the start of the climb.

The road was quiet and pleasant to ride along, with views of the Dyfi valley over to our right. Then we got a fright as a squirrel decided to cross the road just as we were passing. It ran right up to Oliver’s back wheel and then must have got caught up, as it span right round with the wheel, through the seat stays and down onto the ground on the other side. It then managed to find its feet and scurried away into the undergrowth. That was a close call, both for the squirrel and Oliver, as it could have ended much worse for both of them.

A bit later on, I needed a stop to take some painkillers, as I’d been suffering from a sore back for a few weeks. The bumpy nature of the little side roads had set it off again, but luckily the ibuprofen kicked in quite quickly and half an hour later it was forgotten about.

Oliver also took the chance to check our progress towards the start of the climb, when he discovered that we were heading for the finish of the segment, and therefore we were at the wrong side of the mountain. That caused a bit of consternation until I discovered that there were two Dyfi Forest climbs, one from either side. And I had plotted our ride based on the harder one!

The road started to get steep as we entered Aberangell and found our way to the start of the climb segment. I waved Oliver off, then settled in to do the climb at an easy pace. Perversely, as soon as the climb started, the road flattened off, then even went downhill for a short while, but it wasn’t long till I started to see warning signs for a steep road ahead.

I stopped at the bottom of a short dip to take a photo, but stupidly didn’t change down gear. When I started again, the gears complained loudly as I clunkily changed down all the way to my bottom gear.

It was very steep straight from the off, and soon reached 20% gradient in places. It carried on like this for over half a mile, before levelling off and giving me the chance to catch my breath a bit. I could start to appreciate the scenery of Dyfi forest a bit better now. Areas where the trees didn’t encroach fully on the road afforded some great views across the forest.

There then followed another half mile section where the gradient ramped up to severe again, till I got over the top eventually, and found Oliver waiting for me on the other side. He was pleased at finishing in the top 10 of the nearly 1000 people who have attempted it. 

Then we had the descent, where I would have preferred to have disc brakes for the steep drops. The descents were mixed in with short, steep bits of climbing too, with the odd stop to take photos. 

At one point, I hit a bump and my water bottle came flying out and skidded over to the left of the road. I stopped and walked back, noticing a steep drop into a ravine at the side of the road. Luckily my bottle was stopped from rolling off into the irretrievable deep by a clump of grass. I thanked my lucky stars then carried on to catch up Oliver, who was waiting at the bottom, wondering what was taking me so long.

We had reached the (ex-)slate mining village of Aberllefenni, which Colette and I passed through on a previous visit to Wales, and Oliver and I would pass through again later in the holiday on an even bigger and more climby day.

But for now, we were concerned about getting back to base. Our route took us through Corris, where we turned left and onto a very narrow road leading south. However, after Oliver had a close call with a car coming up the other direction, we bailed out onto the main road and enjoyed an easy gradual descent to the roadworks near Mac that we had passed through earlier.

Oliver knew that there was a near 10 mile segment coming up from the Dyfi bridge back to Aberdovey. He decided to go for it as an all-in time trial effort, while I took it a little easier and enjoyed the ride and the continued sunshine on what was becoming another hot summer’s day. When I caught up with Oliver at the holiday house, he a big smile on his face after clocking up another Strava KOM!

It’s the summer of 1972 and I’m in the back seat of a black Austin along with my brother, sister and dog. My Dad is driving us the final few miles to our holiday destination near Applecross, while my Mum is screaming with her hands over her eyes. Those are my memories of the Bealach na ba, or the pass of the cattle as we knew it then. In the meantime, I believe the perilous switchbacks have been widened, and crash barriers installed, to make it safer but no less awe inspiring.

I have never been back, although since taking up cycling, it has loomed large as one of the bucket list challenges that we should try. But us getting older, and the advent of the NC500 (meaning that the narrow singletrack road is now busy with tourist traffic), have conspired to push it further back, to the extent that I believed we would never actually attempt it.

Then our son Oliver declared that he wanted to ride the Bealach. I accepted the challenge with some trepidation, while Colette politely declined. The plan was to go up on the day before, stay somewhere overnight, then get going bright and early next morning before the traffic built up.

That seemed like a reasonable plan, so we booked a B&B at Strathcarron a couple of months in advance, to coincide with a bank holiday. Only when it came to it, the forecast for the ride day was awful and the day before was good. So we switched it around, and got going early on the Sunday morning, arriving at Shieldaig around 11am. We drove on a wee bit till we found somewhere to park then got ready to tackle the ride.

I got ready before Oliver, so just set off and let him catch me up, which he did just as we arrived at Tornapress, at the foot of the big climb. We turned right, and I wished Oliver good luck as he set off, hoping to post a good time. I pulled in to let a camper van past, then set off much more sedately, passing the big blue sign that states all of the very good reasons that you should NOT be attempting to drive along this road.

After crossing the River Kishorn at sea level, the road took a left and began gently to climb. I soon passed the turnoff for Kishorn Port, which was developed to construct rigs during the oil boom of the 70s, and despite lying unused for a number of years since then, there is clearly something quite large being constructed there now.

The road then turned more inland, and it would be impossible not the be impressed by the majestic rocky peaks that appear in your view, especially on such a warm and sunny day. After about a mile or so, I caught up with a couple of heavily laden touring cyclists just as we came to a viewpoint. I decided to stop and take a few pictures, as well as take on a snack to keep me going.

By the time I got going again, the woman tourist was pushing her bike. It was going to be a long walk, but still doable in a couple of hours or so. Her companion was fairly far ahead, making good progress, and I very gradually caught up on him as I progressed and the gradients got gradually steeper and steeper.

I could see a bend in the road ahead, and once I finally reached that corner, the notorious switchbacks came into view, at the top of a long, straight and very steep looking section of climb. I was now into my very bottom gear, and wishing for a few more easier gears.

In fact, I had attempted to fit an extra small granny ring to my chainset, but when testing it, it had a tendency to drop the chain when shifting down from the middle ring (I use a triple). Reluctantly, I went back to the standard one, but at least it would shift reliably again. Triples can be tricky to get working right, while doubles are a doddle!

Anyway, about maybe halfway up the steep grind, I caught up with the male cyclotourist, who was tiring, and soon had to stop and push. I knew my number was up too, and decided as soon as my heart rate reached 180, I would start pushing myself. That didn’t take long, so I dismounted and began walking the bike uphill.

As I was pushing, I saw a figure in the distance at the top of the switchbacks looking down. I wondered if it was Oliver, and yes it was, as it happened. He had long since reached the top of the climb in a time of around 34 minutes, which sounded amazing to me, although he was expecting to do a little better. 

My heart rate gradually dropped as I continued to walk, and where the road flattened off a little leading in to the start of the switchbacks, I climbed back on the bike and got going. The rest really did me good, and I felt strong enough to negotiate the hairpins, but only by taking the flatter outside line. That did confuse one oncoming car when I moved over to the right side of the road on one of the bends, so I made like I was stopping at the crash barrier to look at the view till he was past me.

Oliver was waiting above me and shouted “get out the saddle” so he could get a better action photo. After I caught him up, he suggested we get some more photos at the viewpoint, but my Wahoo was telling me that if I continued, I could get a sub 1-hour time for the climb. So that’s what I did, pushing with what little strength I had left and Oliver urging me on, it was just like our Sa Calobra day earlier this year.

We paused at the car park at the highest point of the road and took some photos. Then it was time for the descent to Applecross. Oliver disappeared ahead of me again, while I took it easy, as my rim brakes weren’t as effective as his hydraulic discs. There were quite a few blind bends where you might need to scrub off a lot of speed very quickly if a car suddenly appeared coming towards you.

Then I felt a bit of a worrying side wind, so played it safe. I had to shake out my left hand a couple of times, as my fingers were beginning to cramp up on this very long descent. At last, I came in to Applecross and found Oliver waiting at the T-junction at the bottom.

The Bealach na ba was over and we’d survived! There was plenty of traffic to be negotiated, but it all went off without incident and we had some great weather to admire the scenery. If we’d decided to do the pass in wind and rain the next morning, there would have been fewer cars for sure but the fun factor would have been a lot less and the fear factor a lot higher!

Now we started the return leg around the coast road. This was constructed in the late 70s I believe, and it certainly wasn’t there during our 1972 visit, or else my Mum would have insisted we use it! It doesn’t go above 500ft, so being blocked by snow is less of an issue compared to the Bealach. However, it does go up and down a lot, and most of the day’s climbing was going to come from this section.

Oliver asked whether he might get lost if he went ahead, and I told him no, so he went haring off again. There was a decent tailwind here, so I felt like I was flying at times, apart from when hitting those steep little climbs, where you just went slower and slower till you needed to get into the bottom gear and grind up to the top.

The scenery was nice though and I was really enjoying the ride, despite the odd period of trudging, as it would inevitably be followed by a whizzy fun descent. I went on like this for an hour or so, then stopped to try and check in with Oliver, where I found my message wouldn’t send due to lack of reception.

A slightly longer climb took me to a picture postcard view over Loch Torridon, and just as I was stopping for a photo, Oliver called. He’d just got back to the car, while I was still about 9 miles short. I suggested he pack up and drive to Shieldaig for some refreshments, and I would join him there. I liked that, as it would shorten my ride a bit and I was getting tired.

A minute later he phoned again to say the car had a puncture. Oh no, so it was back to plan A. I would join him at the car and in the meantime, he would get the spare on.

Soon, I got to a bend in the road with a good view of  Shieldaig Island, making me feel that the end was in sight. However, the amount of up and down packed into the last mile or two of this little road was unbelievable. I was beginning to flag, so having to stop for a moment to let a mother duck escort her ducklings across the road was a welcome break.

A creaking noise from the cable guide under the bottom bracket was beginning to annoy me, and it was starting to have an affect on the crispness of the shifting at the back, so I stopped just before the T-junction at the end of the road to sort it out. If anyone had seen me turn the bike upside down and spit on it, they would have thought I’d gone mad! It did the trick though.

Next, I turned right and started the final leg back to the car. It was into the wind and mostly slightly uphill, so the last few miles seemed to drag till I finally caught sight of Oliver’s car with hazard lights blinking. Luckily, he had managed to get the spare on without any issues, so I just needed to help him get the wheel with the puncture stowed away in its place underneath. 

After that, it was off to the B&B to get showered and then a short walk to the Strathcarron Hotel to enjoy some beers in the still warm sun at the tables outside. There we could reflect on the day’s adventure, comparing it with our experience of Sa Calobra earlier in the year. 

The Bealach na ba and Sa Calobra climbs are very similar in terms of total distance and total elevation, and even the amount of time we took to climb them. However, Sa Calobra is fairly steady, while the Bealach is fairly easy to start and much steeper at the finish, which makes it by far the harder of the two.  

We ended the day with a gentle constitutional walk to ease our leg muscles, while admiring the mountains surrounding us. As ever, this part of Scotland, while the weather is kind, is very hard to beat.

Today’s ride was based on the exploration of a stretch of road that has intrigued us for a number of years, and now we finally got a chance to ride it. Initially, I envisaged it as a narrow minor road, but a bit of research showed it to be a grassy offroad track. So for this we needed our gravel bikes. and I made sure to change the tyres on Colette’s to wider gravel-specific ones, as she normally uses this bike as a road bike.

We arrived in Kelso on a lovely sunny morning, with barely a breath of wind. The downside was it was a chilly 5 degrees C at the off, so we were well layered up. After the usual departure south from Kelso, we took a right at the Jet petrol station along Jedburgh Road. 

Once we reached the edge of town, we spied an unmarked opening on the right and joined a dirt track leading in the direction of Roxburgh. We have Lynne to thank for the chance to get this bit of offroad under our belts before the main event later on, as she sent us the info the day before.

The track, which is presumably a disused railway line, ran through woods for the most part, with occasional nice views over the the right. There was a little mud here and there, but with a few dry days, I’m sure it would become an easy, fast dirt track suitable for any bike.

After a while, the track opened out onto a viaduct over the river Teviot. There were good views up and down the river from here. Progressing over the other side, the track deposited us onto the road at the south side of Roxburgh. It looked as if we could drag the bikes up a steep slope here to get onto another ex-railway path, but my hastily drawn route took us further south along the road.

It wasn’t long before the route deviated back offroad, taking us through a gate into a grassy field. On the other side of the wall there, we could see a crow inside a cage, looking not too happy to be there. Maybe it was our sudden appearance that scared it, or maybe it had been trapped. Anyway, it looked deliberate, and it wasn’t our business, so we carried on through the field, following a track along the grass till it led us down to a gate. 

At that gate, we joined the other ex-railway path that we had seen earlier. This track was quite muddy in places, and our gravel tyres did not seem best suited for riding through the stuff. Luckily it didn’t last long before improving again. Then the track ended at a dismantled bridge, where we carefully walked the bikes down a steep slope to the road.

Here, we turned left and rode along with mud flying off the wheels as we picked up speed. A short distance further, we took a left over the Kalemouth suspension bridge. The bridge is currently closed to cars, but luckily open to walkers and cyclists, otherwise I’d have been completely rethinking the day’s outing.

After the bridge, we had a very brief dalliance with the A698 before turning off onto the B6401. We were now heading towards Morebattle on what is usually a pretty quiet road, but today it seemed more cars than normal were needing to get past us. When we arrived in Morebattle, we understood why, as scores of people were gathering for a very large funeral. It had crossed my mind that we might stop there for a takeaway coffee, but in the circumstances, it was better that we push onward.

Our next destination was Hownam (which we later found out is pronounced “Hoonum”), involving a couple of steeper ups and downs than we had been dealing with up to this point. Once we reached Hownam, we rode through until we saw what we were looking for: a left turn up a hill, with a sign saying that the road ahead is closed to vehicular traffic during the months of April and May. 

The first time we saw this, we though that spring would be the ideal time to visit, as we would have the road to ourselves, apart maybe from some lambs; lambing being the presumed reason for the closure at this time of the year. Well, the road only ran for a short distance round the corner till it came to a gate alongside a house.

Beyond the gate was a field with a 4×4 style doubletrack going steeply uphill. The sign we just saw seemed completely redundant. I mean, who in their right mind would want to drive a car up here at any time of the year? I know ours wouldn’t get very far!

In fact, this path is known as “The Street” and was an important drove road in days gone by. There was no point even trying to ride up this slope, so we both started walking our bikes. I was fully expecting to do some “hike-a-bike” on this outing, and was quite enjoying it. Colette, with her arthritic feet, wasn’t enjoying it quite as much.

We took a rest at the top of the first push, alongside a wood bounded by a stone wall. It was now time to deploy the emergency ham and cheese sandwich to keep us fuelled till lunchtime. It also gave us more of a chance to take in the surroundings, standing as we were, in the middle of the Cheviot hills. Running along the ridge a few miles to the south of us was the Scotland-England border. We hadn’t got all that far from the road, but already it was feeling very peaceful and remote.

As we moved on, the gradient flattened off and we were able to ride for a while. I did pause for a quick detour up a grassy knoll to examine a standing stone. We then approached a very muddy expanse, where I thought that riding through the puddle described by one of the wheel tracks was the best bet at getting over with the minimum of mess. As hoped, it had a good solid base and I made it over without mishap. Unfortunately, Colette stalled halfway through and ended up with wet feet, which wasn’t ideal.

After that, there was another section of pushing, taking us up to a three-way signpost. The Street carried on to the right, while we went through a gate in the direction of Belford. Shortly after that, the grassy track turned to a steep downhill, which both of us were able to negotiate on the bikes, making a welcome change to pushing. 

From the next gate, we did have to walk again for a wee while, till we reached a farm track that headed downwards, gently at first. It wasn’t the easiest to ride though, consisting of rounded rocks varying from grapefruit to football size, set in a soup of mud.

A remote ruined cottage appropriately named Seefew.

As we picked our way down, we were met by a shepherd and two dogs aboard a quad bike. We had a quick chat, and he seemed surprised that we weren’t riding mountain bikes. Yes, indeed that would be the sensible way to traverse this offroad section. He had some good news in that it was now downhill all the way to the road. The bad news was that it was going to get rougher further down.

Undaunted (speaking for myself anyway!), we carried on, alternately slipping on the muddy bits, then bouncing over the rocks. Eventually, I opted to ride the less muddy grassy edge of the track, and we made our way safely down to meet tarmac at Belford farm. The road to the right carries on for a few miles before reaching a dead end, although there are plenty of tracks beyond that to explore should we decide to return. However, we were more interested in going left in the direction of lunch.

The road ran mostly flattish with a couple of little climbs, as we rode alongside Bowmont Water all the way to Town Yetholm. We pulled in at The Plough hotel, parked the bikes and went into the bar, after first taking off my very muddy shoes.

The specials board looked very interesting, and we decided to try out some of the “proper” lunch options rather than just something lighter like soup or a toastie or whatever. Colette looked washed out after today’s offroad adventure, so I thought we both deserved it. She had macaroni with garlic bread, and I had the country pie and chips. The food was great, and I mean really top quality pub grub: far better than we could have hoped for. We will certainly aim to have lunch here again!

After lunch, we were feeling almost too stuffed to move, and meanwhile, the clouds had come over, making it feel colder and less inviting to get back on the bike. However, an easy tempo took us sedately up the hills between us and Kelso. Then once we reached the top of the last hill, the sun came out again, and we sped our way back to the car in no time.

As we looked back over our little excursion into the wilderness, Colette was quick to mention the term “Type 2 fun”, while I have to admit that I had a ball the whole way through! Maybe I should leave it a while till we try another one like that though.

Just over 6 months ago, our eldest son Oliver started asking to borrow bikes to do some cycling as part of a fitness / weight loss drive. Keeping track of his rides on Strava, it didn’t take long for him to start trying to go longer and faster on subsequent rides, and pretty soon he was hooked. In these intervening months, he has transformed himself into something of a road warrior with an ever increasing list of KOMs and top 10s to his name.

While Colette and I were in Spain last October, we realised that Oliver would love riding those super smooth roads, and challenging himself on the climbs. He jumped at the chance when we suggested a short trip to Mallorca at the end of March 2023, and was particularly looking forward to the Sa Calobra climb, which is must-do climb for pretty much every keen road cyclist in Europe.

So Oliver and I arrived in Puerto Pollensa for a four night stay, leaving Colette at home, as she didn’t want to hold us up. I felt bad about it, but Oliver was going to be holding himself back enough with me on his wheel, and Colette said now I know what its like for her to ride behind me.

We picked up our hire bikes on the afternoon of day 1 and had a bit of a ride around to get the hang of them. Day 2 began bright and early, as we needed to ride out to the Duva hotel to catch the shuttle bus at 8am.

After last year’s experience of the Sa Calobra express, I was keen for Oliver to take advantage of it too, as it allows you to get early to the Sa Calobra road and get it pretty much all to yourself. In fact, it turned out to be a very good idea, as we discovered from the bus people that the direct road (Ma-10) from Puerto Pollensa to Lluc was closed between the hours of 8am and 4pm for roadworks. The bus had to go via Inca and Caimari, then carefully up the Coll de Sa Batalla climb, after which it stopped at the Repsol garage.

Luckily, the cafe was open, so Oliver could borrow one of their track pumps for a minute to reinflate his front tyre after managing to lose most of the air from it with the defective pumps at the Duva while we waited for the bus. Then we were ready for the off.

This year, the drop off point was a bit further away from Sa Calobra, leaving us to cover the 5 miles or so past Escorca to the juice shack at the aqueduct where Colette and I started previously. We stopped at the viewpoint on the way there to admire the view in full sunshine, which was a lot clearer than last year.

The road crew were hard at work fixing the Sa Calobra road when we arrived

Then on and up the Coll dels Reis from the south side, leaving us the long descent down to the seaside at Sa Calobra village. I paused after a short while to look down on the roadworks where part of the road was washed away a couple of months ago. The supporting wall was being rebuilt, and to accommodate the work vehicles parked on the outside of the bend, the hairpin had been extended inwards, making the bend narrower and steeper. But the main thing was that it was still open for bikes (and cars).

Oliver and I both enjoyed the descent, in lovely dry conditions compared to last year’s wet roads. With only a couple of vehicles and one bike to be seen on the whole descent, we could use the whole road to find the best lines round the many corners.

Once at the bottom, we took a few minutes to get ourselves ready, then Oliver set off. Another of the cyclists from the cycle shuttle arrived and asked whether I was going to chase after him. I had to reply that sadly that was not possible, as Oliver was on a mission to beat his target time of 35 minutes to complete the climb. I was expecting to take somewhere close to double that time!

Both Oliver and I were using Strava live segments on our head units to monitor our progress up the climb. My hire bike was slightly higher geared than my own bike, which I brought last year. That meant that the climb felt a little bit less relaxed. I just had to keep an eye on my heart rate to make sure I wasn’t overdoing it, as there was a long way to go.

The display said that I was a few seconds behind last year’s effort pretty much from the off, growing out gradually to over 30 seconds. Then I squinted a bit closer at the display, and I was actually ahead, rather than behind, which gave a little boost. By the time I got halfway, it was looking like I’d have a good chance of beating last year’s time.

By this time, legions of cyclists, mostly in small groups, were now descending the Sa Calobra road, so I had to make sure to be well on the right as they zoomed round the blind corners towards me. Once I got to the final quarter of the climb, I was definitely feeling it a lot harder than last year. That bit of extra effort was telling.

Then Oliver flashed past on the descent, shouting “Don’t stop! Keep going!” as he tried to get stopped and turned around. He then caught back up with me to pass on the news that he beat his target time with a 34:35. I was very chuffed for him.

Now he placed himself in front of me calling out words of encouragement.  We arrived at the roadworks, where he warned that the hairpin was extra steep. And he was right – I had to get out of the saddle and put in an incredibly hard push to get round, as there was too much traffic oncoming to use the easier outside line.

I thought that effort might finish me off, but I managed to keep going up to the loop in the road and onto the final straight. As we got within 100 yards, Oliver called out “Sprint!”, but I was just too spent. Then with 100 feet to go, I went for it and completed the climb, stopping at the second Coll dels Reis sign and taking a long old breather. I had managed to beat the hour with a time of 58:25. This year’s climb of Sa Calobra was much less fun than last year’s but breaking the hour barrier made it well worth it!

We descended to the juice shack for a coffee, then carried on back to the petrol station. We decided not to have lunch at the now very busy cafe there, instead opting to descend down to Caimari. This was the first time I’d gone down this road, rather than up it, and it has to be said that the descent was very enjoyable. 

We parked our bikes outside a cafe in the middle of Caimari just as a large group was leaving, then found a table in the courtyard out back. Oliver asked for a menu, but the guy said no, we could either have pa amb olis or one other thing that I can’t remember (or more likely couldn’t understand). So we had ham and cheese pa amb olis (a local delicacy consisting of an open sandwich drizzled with olive oil) and reflected on our achievements.

From Caimaria, we took back roads to Campanet, where I spied a couple of red kites and tried to tell Oliver, but he had drifted too far ahead to hear. At the little supermarket, we stocked up on water, then headed down to the Campanet valley. I told Oliver to go ahead and have a blast, and wait for me at the junction with the main road.

Next, we turned left for a while, then right onto the lanes leading back to Puerto Pollensa. Oliver was keen to get some extra miles in, so he went off by himself in the direction of Alcudia, while I carried on with the maze of lanes, managing to lose my way till I got onto the coast road, which led me back to the hotel.

By the time I’d showered and opened a can of beer, Oliver appeared after taking a detour halfway along the Cap Formentor road and back, adding an extra 14 miles and 2000ft of climbing compared to my total for the day! After that day’s effort, we both had free rein to stuff our faces with the Puerto Azul hotel’s excellent buffet dinner.

We visited the Algarve back in 2019, and while we weren’t sure about whether we would come back, the prospect of combining it with catching some of the action from the Volta ao Algarve (aka the Tour of the Algarve cycle race), made up our minds. It was going to have to be mid-February, meaning a drive to Newcastle because flights from Scotland don’t start till later in the year. Actually it turned out to be quite a nice experience, as the airport was lovely and quiet.

Once there, we had a couple of days to get our bearings again and work out where we were going to intercept the tour. All the time, we were a bit fearful of the weather forecast, which showed heavy rain for the first day. Right on cue, the rain started pelting and thunder kept me awake of the night before. Luckily though, the rain turned to light drizzle in the morning, and Colette and I cycled down to Portimao harbour for the team presentation and start of stage 1.

Riders congregating ready for the start.

Colette with Oscar Onley

Colette got some good photos of the riders, including a selfie with young Oscar Onley (Team DSM, rider no 95), who was the only Scottish rider we knew of in the race. The riders lined up in front of us, then they were off, and so were we – back to the hotel for a quick spot of lunch, then off to the finish in Lagos, having given the tour riders a good head start. We were however taking the short route, saving at least 100 miles of cycling!

We got there with plenty of time to spare and found ourselves a prime spot quite close to the finish line, although it did involve standing in a puddle. An hour or so later, the sprint finish was predictably over in a flash, with Alexander Kristoff’s yellow-orange helmet the only thing I can remember as he raced to win the stage.

The next day was planned to give us a bit longer to watch the riders go past, having scoped out a great vantage point on the climb to Casais a couple of days earlier. We left the hotel and got out of Portimao using our optimised route, to avoid the worst of the traffic.

After that, there was no option other than to mix it with the busy traffic of the EN125, but that comes with a wide verge that acts as a safe lane for cycling. Soon after, we turned right onto the EM532, which is a smaller road, and quieter, but not without impatient drivers racing past, leaving minimal passing space. Not a lot of fun, but after a few miles the cars got fewer and my stress level returned to normal. The scenery improved too, and with a warm sun beating down, we really began to enjoy the ride.

About 12 miles in, we arrived at the village of Montes de Chima, home to the Taberna do Manel (aka Honey & Cafe). This cafe comes highly recommended! We had coffees and coconut Queijadas, which are wonderful. They are similar to a “flan” or creme caramel, but a little more substantial. We greeted a number of cyclists while we were here, mostly also on their way to find a vantage point to watch the tour.

Colette with coffee and queijadas. Photo from our recce ride a couple of days before.

After our coffees, we headed off up the climb, which with stretches of 10%, should be enough to slow the riders a bit. It certainly slowed us!. Finally, I got to our pre-chosen spot just behind another cyclist, who had exactly the same idea. There was a nice wide area to stand on behind a crash barrier, with views down to the previous bend and further back, to give us plenty of warning of the arrival of the tour.

Our vantage point

Colette then arrived and we got the Scotland flag out. Without a pole, there was a bit of head scratching about exactly what to do with it. We ended up draping it over a road sign and keeping it from flying off with a cable tie. 

As we waited, we chatted to a number of other people who congregated at the same place. It seemed that lots of ex-pats had turned out for the race, mostly from Britain and northern Europe. Interestingly, the biggest influx to the Algarve recently has been from Canada for some reason. We didn’t meet any Canadians on the roadside though.

The breakaway

The peloton at the bend lower down

After an hour or so of waiting, the race made its way to us. First was a breakaway of about 8 riders, mostly from local teams. Then we could see the peloton emerge round the lower corner, with riders two or three abreast at the front, widening out to span the entire road further back. I made a point of not taking photos at this point, so I could see more of the action, but even so, and despite the relatively slow speed on this hill compared to the sprint of the day before, it was a struggle to pick out individual riders. No matter, I just stood next to the flag and cheered them on.

As they passed, there was the sound of a thump on the barrier next to us, and Colette leaned over to retrieve a bidon (drinks bottle). It’s always good to get a wee souvenir from a race, so we were delighted. This was from team Credibon / L.A. Aluminios / Marcos Car.

Once it was all over, we hopped back on the bikes and enjoyed the fast descent right back down to the cafe, where we stopped for coffee and bifanas (a roll or sandwich filled with thin pork steak) for lunch. 

From the cafe, we took a right turn rather than repeat the way we came up, and enjoyed some more peaceful riding for a while before rejoining the hustle and bustle of the traffic as we approached Portimao.

Our optimised route back included a left turn onto the Antiga Estrada Nacional 125, which despite its initial 6-7% gradient, was preferable to any other road, due to the wide verge at the side. There is a big white tower here, looking similar to an air traffic control tower at an airport, then further along our route back to the hotel, there is another, painted red and white. I’m not sure what they are for,  Colette suggested water towers, but they do make useful landmarks.

Once back at the hotel, we turned the telly on to Eurosport and watched the race finish in a sprint up the climb to Foia, which was won by Magnus Cort of team EF-education Easypost, to take the leader’s jersey. 

That was the last of the tour that was accessible to our location, apart from the time trial at Lagoa on the last day of the race, which was also the last day of our holiday, meaning we could only watch on the phone while on the way back to Faro airport. Although Tom Pidcock was leading the general classification by 5 seconds at the start of the time trial, it was his Ineos teammate Dani Martinez that came out on top overall at the end of the tour. And Oscar Onley went on to win the best young rider jersey, well done Oscar!

Fabio

Our final bit of excitement came when Colette spotted Dutch sprinter Fabio Jakobsen in the queue for Burger King at the airport, who she managed to persuade to pose for a photo. Thanks Fabio – good luck in the Tour de France this year!

We returned to Ibi, near Alicante, for another week’s cycling, having enjoyed our previous visit in 2019 so much. We came with gravel bikes this time, with the idea of adding in some offroad rides, but after giving the Via Verde a try, Colette found the loose gravel a bit hard going in the heat. The ride described here was designed as a return to pure road cycling then, taking us on a loop with Xixona as our lunch stop and passing through Torremanzanas, allowing us to explore some new territory on the way.

We set off northeast from Ibi on the service road for the A7 motorway. Being a Saturday, there was more traffic than usual, mostly people out for a cycle ride coming from the direction of Alcoy.

A few miles short of Alcoy, we branched onto the N-340, taking us to a mountainous area where both the Via Verde and the A7 pass through tunnels. Then, approaching a bend, we found a sign telling us that our road was about to pass through a tunnel too. I signalled to Colette to stop so that we could turn on our lights before progressing. But what an anti-climax: the tunnel was barely 50 yards long!

Shortly, we turned right onto the CV-785 and started climbing again. But it didn’t last all that long, and soon the road descended then flattened off till we reached Benifallim. We decided to investigate the village in search of a coffee stop, and found a bar with a single table outside, opposite the church.

We had coffees and a wander to take photos before departing, and leaving behind Colette’s latest pair of sunglasses, which we didn’t discover till way later of course. Another pair bites the dust!

Straight after leaving the village, we started a 3-mile climb (Puerto de Benifallim) at an average gradient of 5.8%. It was a pleasant climb, with plenty of hairpin bends giving good views down where we’d come from.

As we approached the top, we escaped the cloud which had been around since the start of our ride, and emerged into warm sunshine. Then, from the top, we had a descent of around 1800 feet to enjoy. Some of it was pretty straight road with gentle bends, where just freewheeling took you to over 40mph, and other cyclists were overtaking me at significantly greater speeds. Some of the descent was more technical, where I opted to take things nice and easy, making good use of my hydraulic disc brakes.

Near halfway through the descent we passed through Torremanzanas, which translates as “tower of apples”. Although we weren’t stopping at this place, I kept a lookout as we passed through to see if I could identify anything like an apple tower. Maybe it would be like Appleton Tower in Edinburgh? Nothing matching either description was seen by me, but next time I’m passing, I think I need to stop and investigate further!

We just kept on descending till it petered out, and even gave us a little uphill to contend with before we reached our lunch stop at Xixona. We found a likely place for lunch on Avenguida de la Constitucio, next to the ice cream parlour that we frequented on our last trip to the area.

I asked “Comida…?” (means “food”) in a hopeful voice, and we were ushered to a table. We were offered menus, which was a relief, as we have previously found that issuing the word “menu” can result in you getting given the “menu del dia”. This is no bad thing normally, but a massive three or four course lunch is not what you want when cycling. 

Doing our best to translate the menu, Colette liked the sound of the battered prawns with aioli. I did too, so I said “gambas” (prawns) and pointed at both of us. The waitress had a problem with this, and eventually, by letting her type into Google translate on Colette’s phone, we found that there was only one portion left. So I decided to make things simple and ordered a hamburger. Then Colette asked for “patatas bravas” also as a side. We kept our fingers crossed and hoped for the best!

Another waiter arrived an said “no patatas bravas” and suggested in Spanish some other type of patatas instead. I said yes, and wondered what that might be. A packet of ready salted crisps then appeared! Actually, that was perfect to go alongside the olives and our drinks, while we waited in the relaxing Saturday lunchtime sun.

Gambas – our favourite, and we didn’t even realise we’d ordered it!

When the waitress next appeared, she brought prawns in olive oil with garlic and chilli. This is normally what you get when you ask for “gambas”, though it wasn’t on the menu that we were given. We both love it, so that was a pleasant surprise. We shared that between us, mopping up the oil with bread, then the battered prawns arrived, followed by my hamburger. Both were shared, and both were incredibly good.

We’ve come to refer to getting lunch out in Spain as a “comida of errors”, as we’re never certain what we’re ordering, but the Spanish waiting staff are always very patient and helpful, and whatever it is we get is always tasty and very reasonably priced. If you can cope with the level of stress and jeopardy involved, then this approach can make a fun alternative to learning Spanish!

After that good long break, it was time to get back on the bikes and face the steep ride out of town, and then onto the Puerto de Tibi climb. That climb starts off hard at around 10% for a fair while, before suddenly easing off to false flat. It was now quite a hot afternoon, and as I waited on the flat section for Colette to catch up, the silence was broken by the ping-ping-ping pf the metal crash barriers expanding in the heat. 

The winding road into Tibi

The descent was another fast one, taking us almost into Tibi, but not quite. The final section was a bit cruel, making us crawl up in bottom gear before we reached the town and another break for a cold drink.

We found a restaurant that was very busy serving lunch, so we were low priority and had to wait quite a while to get our cold drinks.

Then there was the final leg back from Tibi to Ibi, which was about 7 miles of mostly uphill, but never too steep.

As we approached Ibi, I could see a rain cloud fringed by a rainbow hanging over the town. It stayed there for most of our approach, only to fizzle out just before we arrived, so we only felt the odd spot of rain, despite the roads being wet and the gutters and small streams rushing with discoloured water. I felt smug that we’d managed to miss the rain. That was until I remembered we had washing hung out on the line on our terrace!

I routed us via some minor roads back to the apartment to avoid traffic, but it just seemed to take an age to get there. We were both feeling a bit tired after another day of climbing in the mountains, but also very satisfied and grateful to have experienced more of the best kind of riding that Spain has to offer.

Colette asked: “Where are you taking me on our next adventure, then?” just after I’d been watching the latest episode from Rusty Rides Gravel. So I suggested Glen Tilt, which looked fabulous from Rusty’s drone footage. So it was decided, and the next day, we were up bright and early to beat the worst of the bypass traffic and head north to Blair Atholl. The forecast was for a warm, dry day, with scarcely a breath of wind and the prospect of sunny intervals in the afternoon.

We parked in the car park next to the chip shop, which I figured might come in handy if we were feeling hungry after our ride. Setting off, we turned left and a short while later turned right at the gates for Blair Castle. I didn’t expect them to be locked though, which meant a hasty rethink of my pre-planned route. However, a dog walker kindly directed us to the pedestrian access just to the right of the imposing gates, which quickly brought us back on track.

I don’t think we caught sight of the castle at all before we turned away right onto a gravel track that took us past some holiday chalets up to the actual Glen Tilt car park. Beyond that, we reached a crossroads, where we took the gated access to Glen Tilt. That took us onto a rough track that was also pretty steep to start with.

After a wee while, the gradient eased significantly, as we emerged from thick woodland. To our right was a steep wooded drop to River Tilt, which we could hear but not see at this point.

The road meandered and undulated in and out of light woodland for a couple of miles until the trees largely disappeared, and we could properly make out Glen Tilt unfolding in front of us. The glen is long and straight, with steep sides and a small river running through, with many dark pools and picturesque waterfalls. At its lower end, there is more in the way of flat valley bottom, but as you progress upwards, this gradually narrows till it disappears and the glen turns from a U to a V shape.

At one point, we paused at a bridge to take in the view, where we could see a lone figure, who Colette likened to Gandalf, staff in hand, leading a white horse halfway up the opposite side of the glen. The remote and rugged scenery certainly had more than a little of  Middle Earth about it.

We passed a fairly substantial lodge at the start of an isolated section of woodland, after which the trees disappeared and the road got considerably rougher. There were a few fairly steep ups and downs too, and at one point, as I struggled to keep going, I caught a glimpse of the track rising even steeper ahead of me. That made me lose concentration, and I nearly rode into the ditch on my left, after which I ground to a halt and almost fell over. 

In the commotion, I managed to drop the chain both front and back. It wasn’t easy freeing the chain from between the big cog of the cassette and the spokes, but I managed it eventually and had a pair of blackened hands to show for it. I guess this is what the clutch on the rear derailleur is meant to help with. I should have had it turned on for this rough section.

It also turned out that I was worrying unnecessarily about the unexpectedly steep track, as it wasn’t our path anyway. Ours took a sharp downhill from here and kept close to the river.

We passed a few walkers on this section, and were overtaken by a couple of mountain bikers just as we reached the end of the landrover track. About a quarter of a mile ahead of us was our destination, the Falls of Tarf, but the track between us and that was now a narrow, rocky walking path. Even the mountain bikers were pushing their bikes, it was so steep and rough.

Colette opted to leave her bike and walk the last wee bit, while I dragged mine along with me, just for the hell of it. And there was the odd wee bit where I could ride, including the final approach to the falls and the bridge.

We made our way over the bridge and took time for a snack (as long as the midgies would allow), then took some more time to admire the falls. This is where River Tarf joins the Tilt in spectacular fashion, in multiple falls and pools. A plaque tells of the tragic story behind the building of the current bridge in the 19th century, and another plaque reassures that it has been maintained since. The gaps between the planks made Colette feel uneasy, but at no more than an inch wide, there wasn’t much danger of her slipping in between them!

Now that we had reached our destination, it was just a case of reversing our tracks to go back. The first bit was tricky walking track, but it wasn’t long before we were back on our bikes. On the reverse route, we were heading downhill overall, so our speed was quicker than on the way up. That meant that the bumpy nature of the track was amplified. Although the gravel bikes were perfectly capable of this, I got the feeling that it would have been more comfortable on mountain bikes, with suspension and fatter tyres taking the sting out of the lumps and bumps.

With narrower tyres on her bike than mine, Colette was feeling more shoogled than I was, to the extent that she felt her eyeballs were wobbling around so much that she couldn’t focus properly! Luckily, we reached the end of the track soon after that, Colette’s eyes returned to normal, and we returned to the car park on tarmac, a slightly different way than we had gone out. 

Back a the car park, we couldn’t resist the smell of chips, and shared a wee tray between us before heading home. The sun, which had eluded us for most of our ride, decided to come out as soon as we’d finished. I guess the scenery would have been even more impressive if we’d have started our ride later in the day, but we’re early birds, so that’s just too bad.

Thinking again about Colette’s problem with the rough gravel (which wasn’t evident on our last ride, where the gravel tracks were pretty smooth), it comes down to getting the compromise right between tyres that are wide enough for comfort off-road, while still being fast enough on the road. I’m coming to the conclusion that what we really need to do is invest in a spare set of wheels, so we can have one set with wide, grippy tyres for the rough stuff, and another with skinny tyres for road-centric cycles. Or maybe we should just dust off her old mountain bike!

This foray into Loch Ard forest was our first, though it was our second attempt this year. On the first attempt, I’d planned a loop round Loch Katrine, returning through the off-road tracks in Loch Ard forest, rather than the road. That was called off soon after the start, when Colette managed to cut the back of her leg quite spectacularly when her pedal slipped. 

On this occasion, inspired by a video on the Rusty Rides Gravel channel, I decided to focus the ride entirely on the forest tracks, using the longest of the three way-marked Gravelfoyle trails: the Lomond loop. As this seems a little short at only 18 miles, I added a wee detour for extra value that should take us to the shore of Loch Ard and bring the total distance to over 20 miles.

We arrived at Aberfoyle and parked the car after passing through rain on our way, which abated to a mild drizzle by the time we arrived. That wasn’t enough to put us off, so we got the bikes ready and pedalled onward, passing over the river Forth then turning right, away from the road and into the forest.

Soon we picked up the markers for the various Gravelfoyle routes, taking us onto some gravel that looked newly laid and somewhat loose. However, that didn’t last long, after which the forest tracks were more well compacted. As expected, the lower reaches of the loop passed through forest that didn’t afford much in the way of views, however there were enough ups and downs and turns to keep us interested.

After a while, a fast descent brought us to an aqueduct, where we could hear the slooshing of water overhead. This piece of Victorian engineering was built to carry water from Loch Katrine to Glasgow, and by the sound of it, it still works.

Not long after, we reached a sign telling us we were already a quarter of the way through the loop, but there was quite a bit of climbing ahead before we could reach the 50% mark. It was a little steep in places and slowed me right down, but we managed to grind our way to the top. The reward was better views, especially where the forest to our left had been cleared. We could see over to picturesque islands of pines in the middle distance, atop small hillocks. Beyond that, we imagined majestic mountains could be seen, including Ben Lomond, I believe. However, low cloud and murk was about all we could see today. 

Moody scenery

When I thought about it, this is one of the wettest parts of Scotland, so to see it on a sunny day would be unrepresentative; we were seeing it today as it is meant to be seen!

A little further along, we caught our first glimpse of Loch Ard, lying quite a way below. We stopped and had a wee sandwich break, then got into some swift descending. Then we reached the point where my planned route diverted from the Lomond loop. 

That took us steeply downwards, prompting Colette to ask whether we would need to climb all the way back up again to continue the loop. I basically said don’t worry about that just now!

Loch Ard

We got down to water level, then took a left onto a narrower track. This ran out after a while, depositing us onto singletrack. This wound its way through some natural-looking woodland in a very pleasing manner, and wasn’t overly technical at this stage. However, Colette isn’t too confident on narrow tracks, so she pushed.

Soon, we arrived at a clearing by the waterside, where one or two of the larger trees had been felled to open up what seemed to be a popular place to hang out, judging by the remains of camp fires. There wasn’t a scrap of rubbish to be seen though, which was good.

Loch Ard is quite narrow here, and also very still and tranquil. Colette went off to take some photos, while I went in search of Rob Roy’s cave, which I saw on the Strava mapping app when I put the route together. Sadly, there was no signal here, so I wasn’t able to pinpoint an exact location. I wandered around looking for clues or hopefully a sign, but found nothing except for blueberries, which were out in abundance. I picked a handful and scoffed them, although Colette thought they weren’t sweet enough for her taste.

Moving on, the trail got more technical, and I had to push up a couple of short steep inclines. Colette did the same, and also needed me to push her bike down one steep drop. I felt a little more confident, and enjoyed the ride, though perhaps I should have been more circumspect, as I wasn’t riding a mountain bike, and getting a pinch puncture on one of the many rocks in the trail was a distinct possibility.

The singletrack ended and we reached a more typical forestry track, just as a family was heading down in the direction we’d just come from. They were looking for Rob Roy’s cave as well. I couldn’t help, but wished them luck.

We then headed east for a wee while, then made a sharp right uphill on a track that I’d plotted for our return to pick up the Lomond loop. I wasn’t entirely certain that the track would be rideable though, since Strava heatmaps showed that hardly anyone goes along there. Well, I was relieved when it turned out to be quite a wide forestry track rather than the overgrown singletrack that I’d feared. It did however rise quite steeply and we were surprised to find it busy with walkers, all coming downhill towards us. That meant that when Colette ground to a halt on the steep gradient and fell over when she tried to put her foot down, she had an audience!

Luckily there were no injuries, so I walked with her till the gradient eased enough for me to get back on again, and carried on. Soon, the uphill turned into downhill and I sped along for a wee while till I heard the phone ring. It was Colette, but the signal was so poor that I couldn’t hear her properly. So I turned around and retraced my steps, hoping she hadn’t had another fall. Thankfully, it turned out the she’d just dropped her chain and needed me to put it back on.

We carried on together and soon regained the Lomond loop where we left it earlier. Here we met a couple of walkers consulting maps, who asked if Rob Roy’s cave was down where we’d come from. We replied yes, and wished them luck finding it. At least with printed maps, they wouldn’t be subject to the vagaries of mobile reception.

Lochan a’ Ghleannain

The ride from here was predominantly downhill, speeding us past a couple of lochans, then into a car park, from where the trail continued as an easy singletrack for a short while. We emerged back at familiar gravel track that we’d ridden along at the beginning of the ride, signalling a turn back towards Aberfoyle.

It wasn’t long before we were going back over the Forth at the wee bridge, then turning right back into the car park. We were ready for a wee snack from the van in the car park, but that was cash only. Our alternative was the Station Cafe, which worked out just fine. But it’s worth trying to remember to bring some quids if you fancy an ice cream from the van at the end of your ride.

Overall, another enjoyable day out, but just average marks for the scenery, due to the poor visibility. We need to visit again on a sunny day…