In the first few month of 2009 I hardly did any cycling at all. The tablets I'd been on since 2002 to treat my arthritis I think had stopped working. Since 2008 my symptoms had been getting a lot worse, and we almost didn't book a cycle tour in either 2008 or 2009, because both times I doubted whether I'd be up to it physically.
The hospital had offered me some much stronger medication (methotrexate) but I can't remember if I'd started on that by 2009. I'd been hesitant about taking it, due to the monthly blood tests and the alarming list of potential side effects. The fact that in larger doses it's used for chemotherapy didn't exactly fill me with enthusiasm. But whether I was on it or not by then, I can't remember. What I can remember is saying that the only way I could do a tour in 2009 was via B&Bs. There was no way I could cycle camp, it would be too hard.
I'd had a bloody horrible time camping in the summer of 2008, on the church camp at Winksley when I just couldn't get comfortable in the night, and I totally spoiled it for Ruth, so unless there was a big improvement in my symptoms, I wasn't about to try camping again.
Although I wasn't in the best physical shape for going cycle touring, I really fancied doing the Sustrans Lochs and Glens North Route between Glasgow and Inverness. I figured that if I only tried to average about 40 miles a day and if I only pedalled when absolutely necessary I could probably do it. My feet and hands had been painful on some really short rides earlier in the year, on one in particular I felt like I came within a Freddo bar of death. Thankfully I found a Freddo bar in my pocket, so I got through it. As well as sore hands and feet, I was worried about becoming fatigued so that was another thing in favour of the freewheeling idea.
Judging by the route profile for the Lochs and Glens, I reckoned I probably only needed to pedal about half the time (pedants such as Graeme please note, this actually means half the distance, not literally half the time, I'm well aware it takes longer to go uphill than down).
By the way, my physical feebleness wasn't the only reason I decided not to pedal too hard (or much). I also don't like to stress the bike. I don't know what tolerances they use when they test bikes, but I don't want to go snapping bits off mine by riding the thing like I'm the Incredible Hulk. I figure if I ride it quite softly, it will most likely cooperate. One of my favourite things when riding a bike is to ride it so it feels like I am not trying. If ever I was a He-man figure in the past, which I doubt, I've gone beyond that now. I don't want to go blowing my knees out or snapping a chain by trying too hard. Isn't the whole idea of a bike to make life easier, not harder?
So that was how I arrived at the decision not to try very hard at all on my bike in 2009. I wasn't sure what I'd got in reserve, and I didn't want to blow the tank early.
Sunday 10th May 2009.
Ruth and I rode to Darlington and caught the train to Glasgow.
I don't like riding on urban cycle paths due to the regular deposits of broken glass and dog poo which are found there, and I tried to persuade Ruth to do the first few miles out of Glasgow by train, but she wasn't having any of it. We'd booked a B&B in Balloch, and much as I whined on about getting the train at least as far as Bowling, she took no notice. She said it would be all part of the experience.
Within a few miles of leaving Glasgow station we'd totally lost touch with the Sustrans signs, and we ended up in what to me looked like a pretty run down area. I'm a bit ashamed to say it now but I was feeling very self-conscious because we were on nice bikes with good quality kit and I was expecting to get some hassle or to even get robbed (probably by skinheads in shell suits with flick knives). Then, just at the height of our being lost, and my feeling anxious, and while I was hopping around outside a scruffy looking pub desperately needing a pee, and contemplating doing one behind a nearby skip, we were offered help by a man carrying some wrapping paper who'd just got off a bus. He took one look at us and he could obviously tell we were struggling. It was the first time I'd ever met a real Glaswegian, and if I'd inadvertedly picked up too many stereotypes from watching Russ Abbott's C U Jimmy, my defences were about to be lowered.
The man with the wrapping paper wasn't approaching me so he could head butt me in the face and tell me to 'Stitch that!', No, he seemed genuinely concerned for my welfare, and clearly wanted to help me find my way, as have all the other Glaswegians I've met since (see India 2012 and Kilberry 2012). With no sense of irony in evidence he pointed down the road and said 'See that burnt out shell of a building, turn left there, follow the path along the river for a bit, and you'll soon find your way'. The burnt out building proved to be not just a useful waymark, I also managed to have a pee behind it too.
I started feeling better for a while about the whole venture, the sun came out, but then Surprise Surprise! a glass related puncture. How unexpected! Not! Having tried to get Ruth onto a train to avoid this, I started having one of those I told you so type moods. Luckily Ruth took complete charge of the situation and fixed it while I stood around being pathetic, and pulling faces for the camera.
Once we got as far as Bowling, the route turned into a very pleasant canal towpath, and the sun was still out and we saw lots of families out for their Sunday walk, and it was just like seeing families anywhere else in Britain out for a Sunday walk except in Glasgow, every man had a can of Tennant's.
I felt pretty fatigued for the last few miles and I was glad to arrive in Balloch just before 6. The B&B Woodvale was absolutely fantastic, Alison the owner was really welcoming, we went out for a walk to the shores of Loch Lomond and an Italian meal in the evening, and I started to relax into the trip.
Monday 11th May 2009
Balloch to Strathyre.
A problem I'd been having in early 2009 was that I had been using toeclips on the bike, but after about 15 miles or so's riding I kept getting really bad pains in my toes, and I had to get off the bike and walk around a bit to allow it to wear off. It certainly made doing long distances difficult. Anyway, I decided after breakfast on the Monday that the toeclips had to go, and I'd just have to use flat pedals alone, so I spent about half an hour dismantling them before we set off.
The first part of the day was quite easy, as far as Drymen, where we stopped and sat outside a cafe for quite a while having coffee and cake, and not worrying too much about the time.
By the time we got to Aberfoyle, it was nearly 2 pm, and I was having real trouble seeing. I think the cheap suncream I'd put on my face had run into my eyes, and coupled with the glare from the sun I could barely stand to keep my eyes open. We went in a cafe for some lentil soup, but even in the very dark indoors of the cafe my eyes were so painful I had to borrow Ruth's sunglasses, and I ended up keeping them on all week. I've always hated it when people wear sunglasses indoors, ever since my step dad (nickname Roy Orbison) used to do it while he was drunkenly putting frozen peas in the deep fat fryer (but that's another story), so I felt the need to explain to the waitress that I wasn't either a blind man, a poser or simply being ignorant, but my eyeballs had been taking a bath in suncream, and they were stinging like mad.
Another downer about reaching Aberfoyle was that as well as being blind I realised that my back tyre was flat again. It was most likely glass residue from day before.
I was feeling pretty low now, and also panicky about the time, but Ruth took control again, fixed the puncture, and finally we set off again about 3.
From Aberfoyle the route signs directed us onto a steep forest track. We met 2 other cyclists on mountain bikes and we all realised together that we were lost in the forest. Eventually we found the main road again but we still had a steep climb to do over Duke's Pass. We seemed to be averaging about 3 miles an hour at this point.
Once over the top of the pass, we followed the road as it wound downhill to the edge of Loch Venacher. The path alongside the loch as far as Callander was pretty gravelly and then after Callander there was another bumpy section of cycle track to Strathyre.
It was just after 8 pm when we got to Strathyre, and I felt absolutely knackered. Until Arnside in 2012 this was the latest I'd ever arrived at my accommodation. My good intentions of getting there about 5 had gone out the window. We just managed to get to The Inn and Bistro down the road from the B&B minutes before they stopped serving. I felt a lot better after a good meal, but then some guy in a kilt started playing the bagpipes at absolutely deafening volume inside the pub. Ruth thought this was most excellent and very Scottish, and added to the atmosphere, whereas I just wanted him to go away.
Tuesday 12th May.
Strathyre to Aberfeldy.
The next day got off to a better start. We followed a lovely little country road to Balquhidder, where we visited Rob Roy's grave.
Then just after joining the railway path to Killin, I got my third puncture in 3 days, on the front wheel this time. More glass. Ruth hadn't realised this as she was riding in front but by the time she came back to look for me I'd almost fixed it. Although I hadn't done much to fix the previous two I think I must have got the idea because I had it repaired quite quickly. We followed the railway path through Glen Ogle to reach Killin about 1.30.
Again Ruth took charge. She went in the first pub we came to, ordered me a Venison burger and chips and a pint of coke, and made me sit down, eat and drink. I murmured some protest about how we should have shopped around for somewhere cheaper, but she said it was more important to bring me back to life, and she was right.
I felt a lot fresher after lunch and we set off along a minor road which ran alongside Loch Tay. I always imagine roads alongside lochs will be flat but they never are, especially not in Scotland. It was tough to get any momentum on the undulating route along the Loch edge, and before long we had to stop again to get some coffee. Sweaty and scruffy looking as we were, and Ruth with her regulation oil mark on her calf, we felt seriously underdressed for the extremely well to do Ardeonaig Hotel. It cost about £7 for two coffees but it was worth it. It was great coffee served in a silver coffee pot and there was plenty of it. It certainly put some life back into us. The middle aged lady who took our order insisted on bringing me the bill in one of those leather folder thingies and then she insisted on bringing me my change back in the same leather thingy after she seemed to have had to walk to the moon and back to get it, and I imagine she thought I should give her the £3 as a tip, and it's probably the kind of place where most of the guests can't be bothered to wait around for ages for £3, but to me £3 is £3, and I'd already spent about a million quid on venison burgers that day, and I'm not made of money.
Full of caffeine and with my £3 change safely tucked away we set off again and before long we were rolling down the hill into Kenmore. Ruth and I had a wobbly embrace on the grass verge in Kenmore, and we had the strong feeling that we were over the worst. And we were.
The rest of the day consisted of an easy ride over smooth roads to Aberfeldy and then an excellent and relaxing evening starting with our outstanding B&B Balnearn House. It was run by a lovely young couple with a baby, which was unusual because normally B&Bs are run by old folk, and it had wood panelling and we got bathrobes, and there was quite a nice view out of the window except for all the diggers and JCBs which were digging some stuff up in the middle distance.
And after using the bathrobes and lazing around a bit, we went to the Black Watch Inn and I had my first bowl of Cullen Skink which may have been the best thing I ever tasted, and I said that to the woman at the bar, and she said she'd be sure to tell her husband, who'd made it himself out the back.
Wednesday 13th May 2009
Aberfeldy to Balsporran Cottages.
3 days into the trip and apart from a bit of cloud in Glasgow, all we'd had was sun, sun, sun. Not even a cloud in the sky. We started Wednesday with a nice easy ride on smooth roads to Pitlochry, where we stopped for some coffee, lemonade and a scone. We got a bit lost near the Hydroelectric power station which didn't appear on our map, even though the fish ladder next to it was. Eventually we retraced our steps and realised we had missed a Sustrans signpost due to it being very near another sign advertising ice cream, which had caught our eye instead.
We rode on main roads as far as Blair Atholl where we used the toilet and raided the local shop for food, drink and ice cream to see us over the Drumochter Pass. The guidebook had been at pains to tell us not to get caught out going over the Drumochter Pass, about how the weather can close in suddenly, and how you can end up dying of exposure. With weather this sunny, all I was in danger of was melted ice cream on my legs.
We followed the disused old A9 (now traffic free) and then a very well surfaced cycle track up and over the Drumochter Pass. It was very picturesque except for all the litter strewn next to the A9 where car drivers and coach parties had mindlessly chucked their rubbish instead of taking it home with them.
Pretty much as soon as we crested the top of the hill, and had only just started rolling down the other side, the first building we saw on the left was our B and B, Balsporran Cottages. And it was a very welcome sight. It's a bit isolated up there so the owners do you a lovely homemade evening meal (including crumble) and we spent the evening eating and chatting to the other four guests, and the B&B owners. Two of the other guest were in their seventies, and it was the usual story. They were all as thin as pipe cleaners and they all liked to walk about 40 miles a day for fun, and the oldest woman only had about half a lung left and she'd also had to cut part of her own leg off with a penknife and leave it in a bog, but she could still climb Ben Nevis in about half an hour, carrying a tent and a spare pair of boots. Excellent. And I'd been sweating about doing 40 miles a day by bike. No problem!
When we'd planned the trip, this was the day we thought would be the hardest because of the big hill, but in actual fact it felt quite easy, and it was definitely my best cycling day of the trip.
Thursday 14th May 2009.
Balsporran Cottages to Carrbridge. Any day which starts with 12 miles of gently rolling downhill sounds like a good day to me. This is what it looked like from the route profile in any case. Right, I'm not pedalling I thought, not until I have to.
I managed the first 4 miles without pedalling at all, but then there was a slightly uphill bit going through Dalwhinnie and I started doing that rocking backwards and forwards thing to try and scrape a tiny bit more momentum out of the situation. As I almost came to a standstill, and probably looking a little bit like I was having a seizure, I saw Ruth coming the other way to look for me, in case I'd had another puncture. I'm okay, I said, I'm trying not to pedal. But seeing her coming towards me put me off a bit, and I did actually start pedalling, so I don't know how far I could have got if I'd just carried on rocking.
Because the route became a bit undulating thereafter, I had to continue pedalling on and off between Newtonmore and Kingussie, and so I didn't get my full 12 miles of rest. Mind you, you can overdo it with the freewheeling. If you don't bend your legs once in a while, they start to seize up. At least mine do.
We stopped at Gilly's Kitchen in Kingussie, which the hard nuts we'd met at Balsporran had recommended to us, we had some coffee and I bored the polite young assistant with my anecdote about I knew exactly how to pronounce Kingussie (Kinnoosie) because there's a funny scene about the place in Slumdog Millionaire. You know the one that won all the Oscars? Set in India? She was only about 12. She'd never even heard of it, I was wasting my time.
I've had a few spokes pop in my time, and always on the heavily laden back wheel of the bike, which I had to eventually get rebuilt later in 2009, but usually they go when you're carrying some weight. This time one popped just as I lifted the bike away from the wall of the coffee shop, to set off again.
By a brilliant piece of good fortune, there is a bike shop directly opposite Gilly's Kitchen, which I took my pringled back wheel directly into and asked them to fix it. By a not so brilliant piece of good fortune, it was the mechanic's day off. It was only about 10 miles further to Aviemore so we rode on there with my mis-shapen wheel making an annoying grating sound on every revolution.
Just before Aviemore we made an unscheduled stop at the Frank Bruce Sculpture Park, where there's some pretty weird stuff going on. Whenever I'm on a bike ride I usually try and avoid getting off the bike to do any walking, but Ruth is more in the moment and she'll go look at pretty much anything that takes her fancy, even if it means tramping two miles up a hill to look at a couple of rocks (see Isle of Arran electrocution story 2012). This was one of the better and more thought provoking detours we've done.
Fortunately, when we arrived in Aviemore I was able to get a quick repair done to my back wheel at Bothy's Bikes. 'You really need a new wheel' the mechanic said. After repairing it, he invited me to ride it round the car park for a bit to try it out, which I did, but as tactfully as possible, he told me, if it falls apart on the road, it wouldn't be his fault. I agreed not to blame him.
While he was fixing it, we had some fantastic cake at the Rothiemurchus Visitor Centre. There was a bit more down and up and then we arrived into Carrbridge.
When I'm riding with Ruth we often settle into a pattern where she rides a little way in front, and we often don't speak for quite a while, as we enjoy the ride in our own heads. This day in particular, but on the trip in general, I can often remember watching her riding style and admiring her steady metronomic pedalling and her serene demeanour. It's on days like these that I think she was born to ride a bike. I'm often up and down during an average touring day. Sometimes I feel really glad I'm there and sometimes I feel desolate and like it's all going wrong, and why didn't I just stay in? Ruth on the other hand tells me that she enjoys every second of it. And I believe her. My enjoyment from these things often comes from reflecting on things afterwards, and writing it all down, and talking about what's gone before, but I think she genuinely and actually enjoys it all as it's happening.
Later on that day it rained for the first time in our 5 day trip, and I expended more energy fighting with my neoprene overshoes trying to get them on than I did cycling. Ruth had to take over in the end, as I was heading straight for pulled muscle central.
The B&B in Carrbridge was lovely (Pine Ridge). It was run by a lovely lady called Shona along with her small and somewhat limpy dog, who was adorable, but probably would have been quite ineffective as a guard dog. Sometimes when you turn up at a B&B it feels very much like a business transaction. I am giving you some money, and you are letting me stay here for a bit and giving me some of your food. The great thing about the B&Bs on this trip was that they felt like a home from home. There was still an exchange of money involved but we felt totally comfortable being there and fully able to be ourselves.
By a strange coincidence, after having spent part of the day at a Sculpture Park, when we went to put our bikes in the garage it was also full of wooden sculptures that Shona's husband makes. But he wasn't Frank Bruce, so it was only a small coincidence.
We went out to look at the famous Carr Bridge and take some photos next to it, and then we had a cheap meal at the local pub. It was quite relaxing, except for the quite loud woman at the next table with the peroxide blonde hair who felt the need to comment on almost everything that her two teeny tiny children Savannah and Archie did. 'No Savannah dear, that's not how we eat asparagus now, is it?', and so on.
I sometimes think some parents feel the need to do a John Motson style commentary on every single thing their children are doing, just to prove that they are indeed out there, doing some parenting. But what do I know? Probably nothing, it's just that when I'm eating a meal two tables away, I don't want to come away afterwards feeling like I now know someone else's children as well as they do. I don't care if Archie wasn't brought up to make chip sandwiches.
Friday 15th May 2009
By now the good weather had finally deserted us. We had a rainy and steady climb up to Slochd Summit and then pretty much a roll down the hill all the way into Inverness. At one point Ruth rolled down one hill too many, and shouting didn't work, so I had to phone her and ask her to cycle back up it to take the turn that she'd missed by getting carried away.
On the way, we stopped at the Culloden Battlefield Visitor Centre for coffee and crumble. We found it to be a very haunting place, and over our meal the conversation ended up mostly being about violence and oppression. And then a couple of coachloads of American tourists came piling in, and I was glad I didn't have to queue up behind them, because we would have been hours.
It was a comparatively short day at 29 miles and we got to our B and B around 3 O'Clock. Luxury. This gave us time for a shower and then some Costa Coffee, Cider and Pizza, but no soup! We caught the train home the next morning.
On reflection, what an excellent experience that week was! I would like to do it all again someday. The weather was great, the winds were benign, the locals were friendly and the mishaps were small. If only all trips were like that.
Although I felt a bit crap physically on some of it, like heading into Balloch on Day 1, and on the long drag into Strathyre on Day 2, and just before and just after Killin on Day 3, I felt a bit better every day, and I think in the end I probably could have pedalled more, and I most probably wouldn't have fallen down at the roadside and died. Ditching the toeclips certainly helped, and probably so did the very kind weather, and no doubt it helped a lot that all the B&B owners were kind, and all the food and drink was good, and that we were out there, in the fresh air, doing something we really like doing. And certainly it helped that at the times when I was at my most feeble, Ruth was not, and she helped me through it. And it helped a lot to see her absolutely in her element, enjoying every second of it. And even being with a man with bad feet and a tendency to moan and a reluctance to pedal didn't dent her enthusiasm.
When I look back now at 2009, I realise how much better I've been since then, in health and in what I've achieved on a bike. The drugs that I initially didn't want to take have worked out really well for me, and if they're giving me side effects I haven't noticed what they are.
But I still like to conserve energy when I'm out on the road, by pedalling softly, and by not trying any harder than necessary. But that's the thing about a bike. If you help the bike, the bike helps you. And so if there was ever a form of exercise for lazy people, cycling must be it. And that's probably why I keep doing it.
The hospital had offered me some much stronger medication (methotrexate) but I can't remember if I'd started on that by 2009. I'd been hesitant about taking it, due to the monthly blood tests and the alarming list of potential side effects. The fact that in larger doses it's used for chemotherapy didn't exactly fill me with enthusiasm. But whether I was on it or not by then, I can't remember. What I can remember is saying that the only way I could do a tour in 2009 was via B&Bs. There was no way I could cycle camp, it would be too hard.
I'd had a bloody horrible time camping in the summer of 2008, on the church camp at Winksley when I just couldn't get comfortable in the night, and I totally spoiled it for Ruth, so unless there was a big improvement in my symptoms, I wasn't about to try camping again.
Although I wasn't in the best physical shape for going cycle touring, I really fancied doing the Sustrans Lochs and Glens North Route between Glasgow and Inverness. I figured that if I only tried to average about 40 miles a day and if I only pedalled when absolutely necessary I could probably do it. My feet and hands had been painful on some really short rides earlier in the year, on one in particular I felt like I came within a Freddo bar of death. Thankfully I found a Freddo bar in my pocket, so I got through it. As well as sore hands and feet, I was worried about becoming fatigued so that was another thing in favour of the freewheeling idea.
Judging by the route profile for the Lochs and Glens, I reckoned I probably only needed to pedal about half the time (pedants such as Graeme please note, this actually means half the distance, not literally half the time, I'm well aware it takes longer to go uphill than down).
By the way, my physical feebleness wasn't the only reason I decided not to pedal too hard (or much). I also don't like to stress the bike. I don't know what tolerances they use when they test bikes, but I don't want to go snapping bits off mine by riding the thing like I'm the Incredible Hulk. I figure if I ride it quite softly, it will most likely cooperate. One of my favourite things when riding a bike is to ride it so it feels like I am not trying. If ever I was a He-man figure in the past, which I doubt, I've gone beyond that now. I don't want to go blowing my knees out or snapping a chain by trying too hard. Isn't the whole idea of a bike to make life easier, not harder?
So that was how I arrived at the decision not to try very hard at all on my bike in 2009. I wasn't sure what I'd got in reserve, and I didn't want to blow the tank early.
Sunday 10th May 2009.
Ruth and I rode to Darlington and caught the train to Glasgow.
I don't like riding on urban cycle paths due to the regular deposits of broken glass and dog poo which are found there, and I tried to persuade Ruth to do the first few miles out of Glasgow by train, but she wasn't having any of it. We'd booked a B&B in Balloch, and much as I whined on about getting the train at least as far as Bowling, she took no notice. She said it would be all part of the experience.
Within a few miles of leaving Glasgow station we'd totally lost touch with the Sustrans signs, and we ended up in what to me looked like a pretty run down area. I'm a bit ashamed to say it now but I was feeling very self-conscious because we were on nice bikes with good quality kit and I was expecting to get some hassle or to even get robbed (probably by skinheads in shell suits with flick knives). Then, just at the height of our being lost, and my feeling anxious, and while I was hopping around outside a scruffy looking pub desperately needing a pee, and contemplating doing one behind a nearby skip, we were offered help by a man carrying some wrapping paper who'd just got off a bus. He took one look at us and he could obviously tell we were struggling. It was the first time I'd ever met a real Glaswegian, and if I'd inadvertedly picked up too many stereotypes from watching Russ Abbott's C U Jimmy, my defences were about to be lowered.
The man with the wrapping paper wasn't approaching me so he could head butt me in the face and tell me to 'Stitch that!', No, he seemed genuinely concerned for my welfare, and clearly wanted to help me find my way, as have all the other Glaswegians I've met since (see India 2012 and Kilberry 2012). With no sense of irony in evidence he pointed down the road and said 'See that burnt out shell of a building, turn left there, follow the path along the river for a bit, and you'll soon find your way'. The burnt out building proved to be not just a useful waymark, I also managed to have a pee behind it too.
I started feeling better for a while about the whole venture, the sun came out, but then Surprise Surprise! a glass related puncture. How unexpected! Not! Having tried to get Ruth onto a train to avoid this, I started having one of those I told you so type moods. Luckily Ruth took complete charge of the situation and fixed it while I stood around being pathetic, and pulling faces for the camera.
Once we got as far as Bowling, the route turned into a very pleasant canal towpath, and the sun was still out and we saw lots of families out for their Sunday walk, and it was just like seeing families anywhere else in Britain out for a Sunday walk except in Glasgow, every man had a can of Tennant's.
I felt pretty fatigued for the last few miles and I was glad to arrive in Balloch just before 6. The B&B Woodvale was absolutely fantastic, Alison the owner was really welcoming, we went out for a walk to the shores of Loch Lomond and an Italian meal in the evening, and I started to relax into the trip.
Monday 11th May 2009
Balloch to Strathyre.
A problem I'd been having in early 2009 was that I had been using toeclips on the bike, but after about 15 miles or so's riding I kept getting really bad pains in my toes, and I had to get off the bike and walk around a bit to allow it to wear off. It certainly made doing long distances difficult. Anyway, I decided after breakfast on the Monday that the toeclips had to go, and I'd just have to use flat pedals alone, so I spent about half an hour dismantling them before we set off.
Upon leaving Balloch, we encountered a man who was stumbling out of the local corner shop, drinking cider and arguing with himself. At 9.30 in the morning. I tried not to make eye contact with him, because I didn't want him to start arguing with me instead.
The first part of the day was quite easy, as far as Drymen, where we stopped and sat outside a cafe for quite a while having coffee and cake, and not worrying too much about the time.
By the time we got to Aberfoyle, it was nearly 2 pm, and I was having real trouble seeing. I think the cheap suncream I'd put on my face had run into my eyes, and coupled with the glare from the sun I could barely stand to keep my eyes open. We went in a cafe for some lentil soup, but even in the very dark indoors of the cafe my eyes were so painful I had to borrow Ruth's sunglasses, and I ended up keeping them on all week. I've always hated it when people wear sunglasses indoors, ever since my step dad (nickname Roy Orbison) used to do it while he was drunkenly putting frozen peas in the deep fat fryer (but that's another story), so I felt the need to explain to the waitress that I wasn't either a blind man, a poser or simply being ignorant, but my eyeballs had been taking a bath in suncream, and they were stinging like mad.
Another downer about reaching Aberfoyle was that as well as being blind I realised that my back tyre was flat again. It was most likely glass residue from day before.
I was feeling pretty low now, and also panicky about the time, but Ruth took control again, fixed the puncture, and finally we set off again about 3.
From Aberfoyle the route signs directed us onto a steep forest track. We met 2 other cyclists on mountain bikes and we all realised together that we were lost in the forest. Eventually we found the main road again but we still had a steep climb to do over Duke's Pass. We seemed to be averaging about 3 miles an hour at this point.
Once over the top of the pass, we followed the road as it wound downhill to the edge of Loch Venacher. The path alongside the loch as far as Callander was pretty gravelly and then after Callander there was another bumpy section of cycle track to Strathyre.
It was just after 8 pm when we got to Strathyre, and I felt absolutely knackered. Until Arnside in 2012 this was the latest I'd ever arrived at my accommodation. My good intentions of getting there about 5 had gone out the window. We just managed to get to The Inn and Bistro down the road from the B&B minutes before they stopped serving. I felt a lot better after a good meal, but then some guy in a kilt started playing the bagpipes at absolutely deafening volume inside the pub. Ruth thought this was most excellent and very Scottish, and added to the atmosphere, whereas I just wanted him to go away.
Tuesday 12th May.
Strathyre to Aberfeldy.
The next day got off to a better start. We followed a lovely little country road to Balquhidder, where we visited Rob Roy's grave.
Then just after joining the railway path to Killin, I got my third puncture in 3 days, on the front wheel this time. More glass. Ruth hadn't realised this as she was riding in front but by the time she came back to look for me I'd almost fixed it. Although I hadn't done much to fix the previous two I think I must have got the idea because I had it repaired quite quickly. We followed the railway path through Glen Ogle to reach Killin about 1.30.
By the time we reached Killin I was having one of my trademark dips in both body and spirit. I was having a few stomach pains, well sort of a cross between that and a stitch, and I was having trouble speaking.
Again Ruth took charge. She went in the first pub we came to, ordered me a Venison burger and chips and a pint of coke, and made me sit down, eat and drink. I murmured some protest about how we should have shopped around for somewhere cheaper, but she said it was more important to bring me back to life, and she was right.
I felt a lot fresher after lunch and we set off along a minor road which ran alongside Loch Tay. I always imagine roads alongside lochs will be flat but they never are, especially not in Scotland. It was tough to get any momentum on the undulating route along the Loch edge, and before long we had to stop again to get some coffee. Sweaty and scruffy looking as we were, and Ruth with her regulation oil mark on her calf, we felt seriously underdressed for the extremely well to do Ardeonaig Hotel. It cost about £7 for two coffees but it was worth it. It was great coffee served in a silver coffee pot and there was plenty of it. It certainly put some life back into us. The middle aged lady who took our order insisted on bringing me the bill in one of those leather folder thingies and then she insisted on bringing me my change back in the same leather thingy after she seemed to have had to walk to the moon and back to get it, and I imagine she thought I should give her the £3 as a tip, and it's probably the kind of place where most of the guests can't be bothered to wait around for ages for £3, but to me £3 is £3, and I'd already spent about a million quid on venison burgers that day, and I'm not made of money.
Full of caffeine and with my £3 change safely tucked away we set off again and before long we were rolling down the hill into Kenmore. Ruth and I had a wobbly embrace on the grass verge in Kenmore, and we had the strong feeling that we were over the worst. And we were.
The rest of the day consisted of an easy ride over smooth roads to Aberfeldy and then an excellent and relaxing evening starting with our outstanding B&B Balnearn House. It was run by a lovely young couple with a baby, which was unusual because normally B&Bs are run by old folk, and it had wood panelling and we got bathrobes, and there was quite a nice view out of the window except for all the diggers and JCBs which were digging some stuff up in the middle distance.
And after using the bathrobes and lazing around a bit, we went to the Black Watch Inn and I had my first bowl of Cullen Skink which may have been the best thing I ever tasted, and I said that to the woman at the bar, and she said she'd be sure to tell her husband, who'd made it himself out the back.
Wednesday 13th May 2009
Aberfeldy to Balsporran Cottages.
3 days into the trip and apart from a bit of cloud in Glasgow, all we'd had was sun, sun, sun. Not even a cloud in the sky. We started Wednesday with a nice easy ride on smooth roads to Pitlochry, where we stopped for some coffee, lemonade and a scone. We got a bit lost near the Hydroelectric power station which didn't appear on our map, even though the fish ladder next to it was. Eventually we retraced our steps and realised we had missed a Sustrans signpost due to it being very near another sign advertising ice cream, which had caught our eye instead.
We rode on main roads as far as Blair Atholl where we used the toilet and raided the local shop for food, drink and ice cream to see us over the Drumochter Pass. The guidebook had been at pains to tell us not to get caught out going over the Drumochter Pass, about how the weather can close in suddenly, and how you can end up dying of exposure. With weather this sunny, all I was in danger of was melted ice cream on my legs.
We followed the disused old A9 (now traffic free) and then a very well surfaced cycle track up and over the Drumochter Pass. It was very picturesque except for all the litter strewn next to the A9 where car drivers and coach parties had mindlessly chucked their rubbish instead of taking it home with them.
Pretty much as soon as we crested the top of the hill, and had only just started rolling down the other side, the first building we saw on the left was our B and B, Balsporran Cottages. And it was a very welcome sight. It's a bit isolated up there so the owners do you a lovely homemade evening meal (including crumble) and we spent the evening eating and chatting to the other four guests, and the B&B owners. Two of the other guest were in their seventies, and it was the usual story. They were all as thin as pipe cleaners and they all liked to walk about 40 miles a day for fun, and the oldest woman only had about half a lung left and she'd also had to cut part of her own leg off with a penknife and leave it in a bog, but she could still climb Ben Nevis in about half an hour, carrying a tent and a spare pair of boots. Excellent. And I'd been sweating about doing 40 miles a day by bike. No problem!
When we'd planned the trip, this was the day we thought would be the hardest because of the big hill, but in actual fact it felt quite easy, and it was definitely my best cycling day of the trip.
Thursday 14th May 2009.
Balsporran Cottages to Carrbridge. Any day which starts with 12 miles of gently rolling downhill sounds like a good day to me. This is what it looked like from the route profile in any case. Right, I'm not pedalling I thought, not until I have to.
I managed the first 4 miles without pedalling at all, but then there was a slightly uphill bit going through Dalwhinnie and I started doing that rocking backwards and forwards thing to try and scrape a tiny bit more momentum out of the situation. As I almost came to a standstill, and probably looking a little bit like I was having a seizure, I saw Ruth coming the other way to look for me, in case I'd had another puncture. I'm okay, I said, I'm trying not to pedal. But seeing her coming towards me put me off a bit, and I did actually start pedalling, so I don't know how far I could have got if I'd just carried on rocking.
Because the route became a bit undulating thereafter, I had to continue pedalling on and off between Newtonmore and Kingussie, and so I didn't get my full 12 miles of rest. Mind you, you can overdo it with the freewheeling. If you don't bend your legs once in a while, they start to seize up. At least mine do.
We stopped at Gilly's Kitchen in Kingussie, which the hard nuts we'd met at Balsporran had recommended to us, we had some coffee and I bored the polite young assistant with my anecdote about I knew exactly how to pronounce Kingussie (Kinnoosie) because there's a funny scene about the place in Slumdog Millionaire. You know the one that won all the Oscars? Set in India? She was only about 12. She'd never even heard of it, I was wasting my time.
I've had a few spokes pop in my time, and always on the heavily laden back wheel of the bike, which I had to eventually get rebuilt later in 2009, but usually they go when you're carrying some weight. This time one popped just as I lifted the bike away from the wall of the coffee shop, to set off again.
By a brilliant piece of good fortune, there is a bike shop directly opposite Gilly's Kitchen, which I took my pringled back wheel directly into and asked them to fix it. By a not so brilliant piece of good fortune, it was the mechanic's day off. It was only about 10 miles further to Aviemore so we rode on there with my mis-shapen wheel making an annoying grating sound on every revolution.
Just before Aviemore we made an unscheduled stop at the Frank Bruce Sculpture Park, where there's some pretty weird stuff going on. Whenever I'm on a bike ride I usually try and avoid getting off the bike to do any walking, but Ruth is more in the moment and she'll go look at pretty much anything that takes her fancy, even if it means tramping two miles up a hill to look at a couple of rocks (see Isle of Arran electrocution story 2012). This was one of the better and more thought provoking detours we've done.
Fortunately, when we arrived in Aviemore I was able to get a quick repair done to my back wheel at Bothy's Bikes. 'You really need a new wheel' the mechanic said. After repairing it, he invited me to ride it round the car park for a bit to try it out, which I did, but as tactfully as possible, he told me, if it falls apart on the road, it wouldn't be his fault. I agreed not to blame him.
While he was fixing it, we had some fantastic cake at the Rothiemurchus Visitor Centre. There was a bit more down and up and then we arrived into Carrbridge.
When I'm riding with Ruth we often settle into a pattern where she rides a little way in front, and we often don't speak for quite a while, as we enjoy the ride in our own heads. This day in particular, but on the trip in general, I can often remember watching her riding style and admiring her steady metronomic pedalling and her serene demeanour. It's on days like these that I think she was born to ride a bike. I'm often up and down during an average touring day. Sometimes I feel really glad I'm there and sometimes I feel desolate and like it's all going wrong, and why didn't I just stay in? Ruth on the other hand tells me that she enjoys every second of it. And I believe her. My enjoyment from these things often comes from reflecting on things afterwards, and writing it all down, and talking about what's gone before, but I think she genuinely and actually enjoys it all as it's happening.
Later on that day it rained for the first time in our 5 day trip, and I expended more energy fighting with my neoprene overshoes trying to get them on than I did cycling. Ruth had to take over in the end, as I was heading straight for pulled muscle central.
The B&B in Carrbridge was lovely (Pine Ridge). It was run by a lovely lady called Shona along with her small and somewhat limpy dog, who was adorable, but probably would have been quite ineffective as a guard dog. Sometimes when you turn up at a B&B it feels very much like a business transaction. I am giving you some money, and you are letting me stay here for a bit and giving me some of your food. The great thing about the B&Bs on this trip was that they felt like a home from home. There was still an exchange of money involved but we felt totally comfortable being there and fully able to be ourselves.
By a strange coincidence, after having spent part of the day at a Sculpture Park, when we went to put our bikes in the garage it was also full of wooden sculptures that Shona's husband makes. But he wasn't Frank Bruce, so it was only a small coincidence.
We went out to look at the famous Carr Bridge and take some photos next to it, and then we had a cheap meal at the local pub. It was quite relaxing, except for the quite loud woman at the next table with the peroxide blonde hair who felt the need to comment on almost everything that her two teeny tiny children Savannah and Archie did. 'No Savannah dear, that's not how we eat asparagus now, is it?', and so on.
I sometimes think some parents feel the need to do a John Motson style commentary on every single thing their children are doing, just to prove that they are indeed out there, doing some parenting. But what do I know? Probably nothing, it's just that when I'm eating a meal two tables away, I don't want to come away afterwards feeling like I now know someone else's children as well as they do. I don't care if Archie wasn't brought up to make chip sandwiches.
Friday 15th May 2009
By now the good weather had finally deserted us. We had a rainy and steady climb up to Slochd Summit and then pretty much a roll down the hill all the way into Inverness. At one point Ruth rolled down one hill too many, and shouting didn't work, so I had to phone her and ask her to cycle back up it to take the turn that she'd missed by getting carried away.
On the way, we stopped at the Culloden Battlefield Visitor Centre for coffee and crumble. We found it to be a very haunting place, and over our meal the conversation ended up mostly being about violence and oppression. And then a couple of coachloads of American tourists came piling in, and I was glad I didn't have to queue up behind them, because we would have been hours.
It was a comparatively short day at 29 miles and we got to our B and B around 3 O'Clock. Luxury. This gave us time for a shower and then some Costa Coffee, Cider and Pizza, but no soup! We caught the train home the next morning.
On reflection, what an excellent experience that week was! I would like to do it all again someday. The weather was great, the winds were benign, the locals were friendly and the mishaps were small. If only all trips were like that.
Although I felt a bit crap physically on some of it, like heading into Balloch on Day 1, and on the long drag into Strathyre on Day 2, and just before and just after Killin on Day 3, I felt a bit better every day, and I think in the end I probably could have pedalled more, and I most probably wouldn't have fallen down at the roadside and died. Ditching the toeclips certainly helped, and probably so did the very kind weather, and no doubt it helped a lot that all the B&B owners were kind, and all the food and drink was good, and that we were out there, in the fresh air, doing something we really like doing. And certainly it helped that at the times when I was at my most feeble, Ruth was not, and she helped me through it. And it helped a lot to see her absolutely in her element, enjoying every second of it. And even being with a man with bad feet and a tendency to moan and a reluctance to pedal didn't dent her enthusiasm.
When I look back now at 2009, I realise how much better I've been since then, in health and in what I've achieved on a bike. The drugs that I initially didn't want to take have worked out really well for me, and if they're giving me side effects I haven't noticed what they are.
But I still like to conserve energy when I'm out on the road, by pedalling softly, and by not trying any harder than necessary. But that's the thing about a bike. If you help the bike, the bike helps you. And so if there was ever a form of exercise for lazy people, cycling must be it. And that's probably why I keep doing it.
