Alastair's cycling blog
August 2009 - The Blog moves
All the entries on this page and more recent updates to it are now all available on a Wordpress blog. You're welcome to saddle up and ride over there now.
21st June 2009 - Midsummer, Father's Day and the Trossachs Ton all rolled into one
What do you want for father's day, asked my family. A day out at the Trossachs Ton, I replied. And so it was. I got up early, drove over to Stirling, registered on the spot and within a few minutes was on the start line with three strangers. We set off up the 811 at a vigorous pace. After ten miles we turned off and I let two of the three drop me. The other fell back and we fell into conversation. Being men, we didn't bother with names, so I have still no idea with whom I shared the route from Menteith, over the Duke's Pass and round Loch Katrine. Eventually we drifted apart and I lunched alone and spent the afternoon sinking into stiffness, pain and hunger.
A stiff little challenge, this one, but a lot of fun. Not a race like the Etape, more of a sociable challenge ride. The route was mostly spectacular, apart from a tedious A road after lunch and a mystery tour around the villages around Fintry. The last ten miles after the Crow Road required grim determination and a lot of concentration as the road surfaces were distinctly treacherous. The two climbs; Duke's Pass and Crow Road were good substantial challenges; the run off the Duke's pass was fine compensation for the loss of the descent during the Etack Caledonia. Wide sweeping bends, good visibility, dry roads. I just let the Roubaix fall through the landscape, nudging the nose from time to time, wind in my hair. A the end of the ride, I was knackered and content. Lunch and cake stops were a really nice touch.
31st May 2009 - Etape Caledonia - the aftermath
There is something warming about being involved in a media story. It hit the news on the same day and lots of people who have nothing to do with my interest in cycling suddenly had a connection to my experience. I told my version of the story over and over again in all kinds of contexts. Interesting, too, was the debate about the accused, one Mr Grosset of Kinloch Rannoch, who alledgedly took the trouble to get up early and spread his spite on the roads before the race passed through. What a sad bitter little man. But wait! A Kirk elder, community councillor, solicitor and a sad bitter little man. A lot of hate went his way on the public opinion channels, not much sympathy. Locally, he seems to be an embarassment. Rather tardily, even the oddly unreasonable protest lobby decided that they too would be better off disowning him. It seems that in addition to a few hundred cyclists, he also took out a couple of emergency vehicles and a steady stream of local traffic since. Oh dear, Mr Grosset, oh dear oh dear!
17th May 2009 - Etape Caledonia (again)
My third entry for this event, I had decided in advance, was to be my last. Three times is enough and it is becoming so popular now that the number and quality of entries is starting to leave me adrift. My aim for this year was a good time (sub four and a half hours), a good experience and a fond farewell to competitive riding in Highland Perthshire.
Well, what a day! I got away well and spent three hours riding faster than I had ever ridden in my life, overtaking constantly, cruising the bends like a slalom skier and generally having the time of my life. The roads were more crowded but, until the bottom of Shiehallion, I was only held up once, by a crash that could have happened any year. Then, on the climb, strange things started to happen. The sides of the roads were littered with punctured riders. It was like a wartime refugee convoy after a Stuka attack (except more good humoured for the most part). The number of punctures seemed to me to be beyond anything normal. I soldiered on, wondering whether someone had spilt a bag of nails. I told myself that was ridiculous and rode on. I found a good rhythm on the climb and was soon up it. Other riders, new to the event, were asking how much further the climb would be. I was able to reassure them that the worst was past. Cheerful and making good time, I pressed on over the moor towards the day's big treat, the closed road descent towards Loch Tay. One of the best downhills around.
"The event has been stopped. The race has been stopped!" came the call from fluorescent marshalls. Around a corner, I joined the back of a very long queue of riders and was soon part of a heavily populated and bewildered pen of stationary cyclists. The rumour came down the line that someone had spread tacks on the road. A saboteur. We knew there had been protests every year since this event began, but it was hard to understand how this would do any good at all. People began to chat. Like me, everyone had been on their personal best time and the chance of it was now lost. That was disappointing (or perhaps a relief as it could never now be proved or narrowly missed.) We were there for an hour, before being led down the hill by a safety car. There was no thrilling run down this year and they cut off a loop of the course to get us all home as soon as possible.
At first I was angry and demoralised, then resigned and saddened. The punch had gone out of my attempt at a good time. I just picked up the pace and rode back towards the finish. Then I got my puncture. Nothing to do with tacks, just a regular old blow-out. I took my time fixing it; there was no reason to hurry. I would judge my achievements by the time on bike record on my computer. When stationary, the clock is stopped. I rolled in within my four and a half hour target (albeit having had a long rest and missed out a bit). I gave myself the credit for a good ride in the circumstances and opted out of the Etape, not because of the saboteurs but because for me, the event has run its course.
30th January 2009 - Momentum
My friends at Bikeradar.com run an annual challenge to motivate the flagging will-power. Each month of the year, you have to ride at least one 100km ride and log it on the website. No problem, thought I. The distance is well within my range, the discipline to do it should not be too taxing.
Why then, did I find myself scrabbling on the penultimate day of the first month to get my ride inside the deadline? Not so easy to find the dates in the diary, after all. Even less easy to find a day in the diary when the weather is not so adverse as to make you think twice about stepping outside at all, let alone stepping into your cleats for half a day on the open road.
Anyway, I made it around a familiar circuit, wheezing and groaning at the lack of ride in the legs. Fitness evaporates so fast over the Winter. Eating, drinking and inactivity take their toll with horrible efficiency. I can only improve on the time I achieved today. It can only get more pleasant as an experience.
30th November 2008 - Bike maintenance
2008 wasn't a year for putting in the miles. The weather was awful (the wettest ever in Scotland) and, although that should not put a true roadie off, frankly, it just does! So, what to do instead? Well one thing I learned this year was how to take my bike apart and put it back together again. I already knew how to fix punctures, true wheels, replace bar tape and fit accessories. I have tried time and time again to make trimming the gears a matter of instinct rather than having to look up the manual every time, but it hasn't worked yet. The big project this year, though, was to renew the drivetrain on the Dawes, which meant stripping it down to the bottom bracket shell and replacing all the gears. That was a lot of fun. The hardest part was getting the rear mech off, as it had been there since it left the factory and was a bit stiff. When I had finished my work, it looked beautiful and, what is more, it rode beautifully. So that is a job I can be truly proud of.
I chose to renew the brake cables one Saturday morning on what turned out to be one of the few decent, dry weekends of the year. By the time I had got the job done, the opportunity to go out for a ride was past. Ho hum! Next year, definitely more riding and less fettling.
24th August 2008 - Olympic Success
UK cyclists are being hailed as the great example of teamwork to emerge from the Olympics which finished today. They did scoop a lot of medals and had my heart racing just watching them perform. Add to that the fact that Mark Cavendish won 4 stages of the Tour de France and things look well for UK cycling (NOT team GB: in addition to Scots, Welsh and English success, there are riders from Northern Ireland and the Isle of Man. They are, nevertheless, engaged in a sport which is highly individual. OK, you go faster together and it is good for morale to train with like-minded enthusiasts, but in the end you are doing it largely alone, you and the bike and the landscape (even if it is a track.) I am not sure what lessons others will seek from this team, but they need to be careful to appreciate the context in which all this success has been achieved. Anyway, anything that makes cycling more popular is good with me. Well done the lot of you!
2nd August 2008 - Gorges du Loup
France. Cote d'Azur. Endless suburbs and roundabouts and dense impatient traffic. The local circuits for cycling were unappealing. Thank goodness, therefore, that I discovered a 100km Sunday morning route up the Gorges du Loup. 40km of continuous climbing up the gorge until you emerge high up in the mountains around Greolieres. I rode until it was possible to cross the gorge to the other side and then began my descent via some truly incredible terrain, including the Plateau de Caussols, a sort of Tibetan high plain, the village perche of Gourdon and the hair-raising descent back towards Grasse. Being Sunday, it was also a very sociable ride, with dozens of other cyclists out on the roads and I had the pleasure of making three Ferraris wait for me as I wove down the mountainside hairpins of the Col de l'Ecre. A great Sunday outing. A welcome antidote to the horrors of the Riviera in high season.
2nd July 2008 - Outer Hebrides
At last, a chance to go touring. It has been so long. Of the original four who planned the trip, two of us started out for Oban, where we left the car and took the ferry to Barra. The weather was tempestuous. On the first night, we had to camp wild, because the hostels were all full and the tent was flattened against our faces by the strong wind. Waking up and crawling out of our pancake of a tent revealed the wide open splendour of Barra airport (a beach) with large and grassy dunes of white sand behind. We rode down to Vattersay so that we could start our journey from the southernmost road. The weather was truly hostile, rain blasting into our faces as if someone had turned a hose on us. From there we worked our way up the islands staying in black house hostels on South Uist, Berneray and Lewis and spending a night in a more luxurious facility in Stornoway. On our last night we camped again, this time under calm midsummer evening skies on a headland at Lochboisdale. I made it to the Butt of Lewis (my companion retired injured 25 miles short). A Hebridean end-to-end is certainly to be recommended.
18th May 2008 - Etape Caledonia 2008
I hadn't had much time to prepare for this year's event, but, since I did it last year, I knew the route and what to expect. It was a stunningly beautiful day, even at 6:30am when I turned up in the car park and unloaded the bike. I met Mark Beaumont at the start line and shook his hand and said daft fan-club type things which were meant to be sincere but maybe didn't come out that way. I was in the second group of 150 to get away, based on my last year's time, but it soon became clear that I was over-hyped for this one. I spent the first two hours being overtaken by chain-gang after chain-gang that I couldn't hitch onto. I eventually settled in with the British Ski Club for a few miles but rode most of the 83 miles on my own. The lochs were mirror calm and the sky blue and sunny. This has to be one of the most scenically beautiful sportives in the calendar. I suffered a bit towards the end, cramps mostly through lack of preparation. Although I was only 10 minutes slower over nearly five hours of riding, I came 700 places down the field. It was an exhilarating ride, really enjoyable and I would heartily recommend it. Such a privilege to be allowed to ride on closed roads.
20th April 2008 - Mark Beaumont - the man who cycled the world
What a great achievement, what a humble guy and what a compelling four part documentary to describe his arduous journey around the world, 18000 miles, in 196 days. I watched the programmes earnestly and, at the end was quite moved by his arrival back in Paris. "What a nice man", I said to my wife, as if that is not what you would expect of an explorer, and adventurer. The lack of hype and bragging was what made this such an unusual bit of TV.
2nd March 2008 - In Search of Robert Millar
Just finished this book about Scotland's greatest road cyclist, Robert Millar, written by Richard Moore, a sports journalist who seems to appreciate how much journalists sometimes have to be ashamed of. His is a balanced and non-judgemental account of a talented individual (Millar) who seems to have been (and still is) very difficult to live with. Not at all concerned with the marshmallow softness, resilience and sweetness of social interactions, Millar seems to have been his own man with his own ambitions, his own disappointments, his own friends and his own way of dealing with things. It seems (I never saw him race) that he climbed mountains on a bicycle with the skill and grace that few can achieve. He won stages in great cycle races. He was envied, feared and shafted by other people in his sport. He wrote well about his sport. Now he is elusive and reclusive. If I ever encountered him, I would probably give him his own space. I don't think that an easily-distracted enthusiast like me would have anything useful to say to him.
5th February 2008 - Sheldon Brown
Sheldon Brown is dead. The cycling forums (fora?) are filled with tributes to this gentle, humorous, eccentric, keen and ultimately lovable cycling enthusiast, whose website stands as a testament to him and his love of bicycles. I was poring over Sheldon's Raleigh archive only last week; his gear calculator was critical to the choices I made for the Ventoux; the site was a joy to browse, fun to be in, a trove. I knew he was ill and had even sent him an email message of the "get well soon" variety when I heard about it. My message started "No need to reply." Of course he did. This was a good man and one who will be missed.
30th January 2008 - Statistics
For some weeks, I have been gazing miserably out of the window at wind, rain, frost, snow or darkness, cursing them all for denying me the chance to reach a milestone. I wanted to get to 10,000 recorded miles before 5th February, the 9th anniversary of my return to cycling. I have managed a few rides, including a 70 mile circuit of the Tay estuary and an exhilarating dash to St Andrews and back but my records still showed me to be 250 miles short with time running out.
Imagine my joy, therefore, when I discovered this morning a scrap of paper from an old diary on which I had logged my first couple of years on the bike by circling each day on which I commuted to work. Since the distance to work was constant (17.2 mile round trip) and since I made 110 trips in the eighteen months before I bought my first cycle computer, that is 1892 extra "recorded" miles! Plenty more than I need. In fact, it turns out I had done my 10,000 miles by the eighth anniversary, that's an average of 100 a month.
Now, all this obsession with numbers is very probably a boy thing and shouldn't matter terribly much, but it does keep me going out on the bike and, even if statistics are the obsessive goal, the other benefits are not lost.
28th October 2007 - Winter Bike
Hung up the Special One on its bracket yesterday and dusted down the Dawes for its Winter duties. Apart from air in the tyres and a squirt of lubricant, a twist of new bar tape was all it needed.
Riding it was a different matter. I felt my mortality return this morning as I set off into a stiff Westerly. Maybe it was the four fewer teeth on the big chainring, perhaps the doubling in the weight of bike, possibly the thickness of the tyres, conceivably the fact that I hadn't been out on the road for a couple of weeks owing to a bad cold. Whatever it was, I felt as though I was riding a Chinese delivery bike through a ploughed field after heavy rain. It got better eventually, but the first five miles were as disheartening as they could have been.
It was a beautiful day, and the Dawes is sturdy enough to go on off-road paths, so I was able to take it through autumnal woods at Falkland and along by the railway at Springfield. Once I had turned for home, with the wind behind, I even got up some smooth rolling speed, which was pleasing. But it was not the same as skimming the road surface on a thin-tyred carbon slice of a bike.
I suppose I will have very strong legs if I ride the heavier bike through the Winter and I will enjoy the Spring all the more for that. Meantime, I have the psychological barrier of ten thousand recorded miles ahead of me. Only a few hundred to go. Let's see if I can do them by Christmas.
28th August 2007 - Why I climb
I have found myself saying to people that my next cycling adventure needs to be somewhere flat: Holland, Denmark, East Anglia. Enough of these high mountains. Non-cyclists look at me with relief in their eyes; they don't really understand why anyone would want to cycle up big hills anyway. My words reassure them. However, I'm not sure I believe myself. When I look back as far as I can at cycling trips from long ago, the bits I remember most vividly are the climbs: the Horseshoe pass outside LLangollen in 1976; Salisbury Plain in 1978; a funny wooded hill in Normandy that lifted me off the coastal margin towards the Loire in 1979; Ibaneta in 2004; Bealech na Ba; O Cebreiro and all those grands cols in the Alps. The vividness of the memories is perhaps easily explained: you suffer when you climb; you are thrown on your own resources, you retreat to a place deep within yourself where motivation is forged; and you feel great when it stops, although empty. I think if I rode only the easy ways, I would miss the intensity of the climb; the psychological experience of it.
I was out the other day on a pretty little circuit - mostly country roads, a fishing loch, quiet villages, harvest. I chose Annfield Brae for my hill, a notoriously awkward pech in these parts. Just as I was getting settled into it, the road levelled out and I realised it was over. The same happened along the Cults. I realised how much strength I had picked up this Summer so that for a few weeks I will be able to dance along the lumps. Next Spring, it'll all be hard again. The strain will return.
15th August 2007 - Memories of the Ventoux
Two weeks ago right now, I was standing on the surface of the moon, dazzled by the bare white rocks, gazing at the flanks of the mountain I had climbed. More about the exploit itself by following the Alps link.
I have not been back on the bike since unclipping in the main street of Sault. Somehow, no trip in this miserable rain could ever be so grandiose. However, I am sure I shall soon saddle up and set off again.
One thing is for sure, if you want to go to a place where the cycling is truly glorious, get yourself and your bike to Northern Provence. You won't regret it!
August 2007 - Le Tour
It needs a comment. If you love cycling, you have to have a view. Firstly then, I went to see Le Tour twice this year; my first exposure to the event live. Kent was extraordinarily uplifting. Thousands of people out to watch, great atmosphere, huge culture shock for the garden of England to have this mad French circus rolling through. It was great. We loved it. It was a privilege to be there. Then I took the family to see it at a traffic island outside Cassis in Provence. The ludicrous joy of the advertising caravan, the urgency of horns, the approach of the helicopters and finally, the flash of the cyclists created the kind of buzz that you don't get from any other form of entertainment I know. It was, again, a privilege to see it. We were all uplifted.
But there you are: entertainment, ludicrous joy, a circus; that is what you go to see. We had no idea who was winning, what the tactics were or how the race was shaping up. Not by the roadside. You watch the TV for that. You can watch it all afternoon; more absorbing than cricket. And then someone does something spectacular, almost inhuman, like leading the race for 120 kilometres, or climbing a mountain as if it wasn't there and you don't think superman, you just think superdrug. What's he on? Will he get caught?
Near the top of the Mont Ventoux is a huge road painting that says something like 1967-2007 Will they ever learn? Then you pass Tommy Simpson's memorial and remember the amphetamines, the alcohol, the delirium. And you think of Landis and Vinokourov and Pantani and Rasmussen and you don't know if half of them are guilty or not, but it is all a bit of a mess.
It is a fiercely hard sport. Even the recreational cyclist gets a whiff of that on jolly challenges up the Grands Cols. The competition is intense. The mentality that causes me to buy a carbon bike and energy drinks and the best flapjacks is on the same spectrum as that which tempts the professional to seek any advantage known to man. You can't police people 24/7, 365/365 just because they are sportsmen. You can't expect better nature and high principles to succeed against the will to win at all costs. Cycling is a strange obsession; you get a lot of time on your own. You make odd choices; you are not always sensible.
Consequently, I can wish it were otherwise, I can disapprove but I can't condemn. What do I know about what goes on? What I can say is that, as this year's Tour descended from the joy of the roadside to the sleaze and confusion of the headlines in L'Equipe, I was genuinely sad, depressed even, that such a great creature should have such a weighty problem around its neck.
2nd July 2007 - Thoughts of Mt Ventoux
It is hammering down with rain outside and it has been for days. It took me over an hour to clean up the bike after the Etape; it looked as though it had been left overnight on the beach below the tide line. I brushed fine sand off the smooth surfaces and washed it out of the oily parts. I can still hear it gritting away in the mech as I turn the cranks. Consequently, I can't face going out in the rain again and am therefore grounded.
I've been worrying about gearing for months now. The Roubaix comes with a 50-36 set up and nothing more than 27 on the back. I did the Alpe d'Huez on 26x30. That seems to me to be a big difference. Websites tell me that 50-34 x 12-25 is wise for the Ventoux. Experience tells me they might be right. So I have ordered a 34t ring and hope it will do the job, both physically and psychologically.
It is hard to prepare for a European climb. Scottish roads are just not the same. The gradients here are all over the place so that there are no long climbs, just lots of short variable ones stuck together. It is impossible to find a rhythm. My best bet around here is the Lomond Hills. East Lomond is reached by a cul-de-sac of 2km at 10percent; West Lomond by a through road which is a bit longer, more variable, and probably averages 7percent or so. I guess I will just have to go up and down these roads until I feel strong. I will do, if the rain ever stops.
24th June 2007 - Etape Caledonia
Having left Sheihallion behind me, I ignored the GIVE WAY sign, crested the road at the T-Junction, tucked my head down and set of at full speed down the right hand side of the road. As my speed increased, I rolled the bike over to the left hand lane and hugged the grassy verge to get the best out of the corner. Back and forth across the road I guided the accelerating bike, through blind bends and open curves alike. 65.6kph. Head down. That is the beauty of a closed road cycle event.
This was a really satisfying occasion to be a part of. It had been a bit irritating to have to drive up to Pitlochry and back the day before to register in the pouring rain, but on the morning itself, arriving in the town at 7am, there was a palpable air of anticipation. All the way up the A9, signposts had advised us of the "Cycle Event" and its associated road closures. In the town, we were marshalled to the car park by army cadets. At the car park, there were toilets, important at that time in the morning, and when we realised that they had been supplied with unlimited paper, we already knew that this event was properly organised. We were released in groups of 100, by starting number, from two parallel pens in the main street. We were applauded as we left the town and at places all around the course. We rolled out to Queen's View, along lochs Tummel and Rannoch, around the head of loch Rannoch and then up the side of Shiehallion, by a short but exerting ramp. Once over the pass, we were into farmland with a little loop to the mouth of Glen Lyon and back and a fast run along the valley back towards Pitlochry. A last little surprise laid on by the organisers was the nippy farm road to the West of the river that started with a 1 in 3 climb.
Along the route, I communed (mostly wordlessly) with hundreds of other cyclists and the hiss and spray of their wheels along the damp roads. I ate my banana flapjacks, drank my energy juice and hitched rides with fast moving chain gangs, leaving some behind me as I peeled off, watching others running away from me as we hit a gradient. I rode fast all the way (27.4kph), mostly on adrenalin and by drafting other riders. I hope I took my turn at shielding others, too. I had been worried about the hairpin on the way up to Queen's view. Perhaps because of that, it was me that went skittering all over the place as my back wheel went from under me. Happily, and only just, I remained upright on the bike and wobbled to a halt in front of a marshall. "Well done, mate!" came a distinctly Australian encouragement, and I was on my way again. At the end of the course, on the demonic farm road, I fell in with another Australian on a Specialized Roubaix. When we got within 250m of the finish, we were riding together. I sensed he was done so I clicked up a couple of gears and drove for the line, leaving him in my wake. A voice of someone I knew (but did not expect to be there) called out my name as I approached the line. And then it was over. 130km; 4.44.15; 447th out of 1300. I loved every minute of it. I am still aglow with it. I was in a bicycle race.
15th June 2007 - Edinburgh to St Andrews in aid of Lepra
There are days when you wake up, look out of the window and thank your stars that you don't have to go outside. Saturday was one of those. The Northeasterly wind was blowing so wildly that the cold rain it carried sounded like so much gravel being thrown at the windows of the house. The sky was gun-metal grey, the roads running with too much water seeking two few drains. Despite all that, Dr C and I had agreed that we would spend the day cycling from Edinburgh to St Andrews and we were beyond the point of no return.
At 8:45 we were in a large pen behind Waverley Station waiting to be released. All those who had made the effort to look out their favourite cycling top had done so in vain because fluorescent jackets were the order of the day all round. There should have been about 1000 of us; it is impossible to tell, but there were bikes and helmets as far as the eye could see. We were at the front when the flag went down. There are no traffic restrictions on this run, so you take your chances with the cars and the lights. The first thing we encountered was a taxi doing a U-turn in front of the approaching peleton; it was provocative, like a hooligan chucking a bottle and then scampering away. I was lucky with the traffic lights; they were all in my favour all the way out of the city, so after 5 miles we were well clear in the first 20 riders. And there we stayed all day.
The weather did not improve. It was abominable. Once we turned East, it just became a fight, tucked in, pedalling to stay warm, covered in spray and grit (no mudguards). Perversely, I enjoyed the ride; I was feeling quite good on the bike, was a little thrilled by the conditions and found the open road sensation quite relaxing. When we got to Ceres, three men were standing in the rain applauding us. One of them told me I was 14th. I was shocked. Blimey! 14th! And there were two fluorescent dots on the rainy horizon. Get them and I'm 12th. I went for it. I know the road in the dark (I've done it often enough!); I know the gradients; I know where to hunker down and when to kick on. So I did. An eight mile dash for the line. A breakaway. It was exhilarating. I caught my prey at Strathkinness and I got my 12th place finish.
We sat in the car afterwards (on towels) eating pasta and cradling hot coffee between frozen fingers. I was knackered, cold and utterly thrilled. No more fairweather cycling for me!
13 June 2007 - Etape Caledonia scouting mission
I thought it wise to go and preview the course for the Etape Caledonia on 24th June. Apparently, this will be the UK's first closed-road cyclosportive and I got myself an entry as compensation for missing out on the Etape du Tour. Pitlochry seemed (to me) buzzing with anticipation. Yellow signs everywhere warning of the road closures, a big banner on the side of the bike shop advertising the event and, when I got to the car park, a couple of other guys lifting very nice bikes out of the back of a van, obviously sharing my idea to go and scout the ride. They left while I was still sorting myself out (actually, I had to go hopping off to find somewhere to pee and discovered that they have a really good system in the town, where, in place of stinky public conveniences, they have done deals with local hotels for the public to be able to use theirs; brilliant idea!) Anyway, I set out by myself. The first 10 miles include a lot of undulating roads and a climb up to Queen's View. The French would call this terrain "casse-pied" which literally means "sole-destroying" but could equally be spelt the other way. Added to that, I hate the first five miles of any ride as I wait for my metabolism to remember what to do. Everything hurts and underperforms. After that, the ride runs along the North shores of Loch Tummel and Loch Rannoch (someone should write a song about that), which is all pretty benign and was blessed today with a hoolie of an East Wind to propel me along. If you're doing it, eat after Tummel Bridge, where the next half mile is totally flat and straight.
Round the end of Loch Rannoch and my friendly Zephir was waiting to blow into my face all the way home. However, the South shore of the loch is quite sheltered by trees and flat, so it was tolerable. There is an awkward turning at the head of the loch, which I missed, but there will be marshalls on the day. Then it is the next and biggest climb of the day, up the shoulder of Shiehallion. It is very sharp, but not very long, about a mile or so, and then you are up high in more "casse-pied" territory with a succession of false summits. Gearing this was a nightmare. The eventual descent (after the T-junction, so be patient until then) is very fast and very open - I had to tuck against the wind, but it was great. Then there is a strange and undemanding little loop up towards Glen Lyon and back. At the end of that, DON'T TURN RIGHT TO KENMORE! I did and ended up sticking an unwelcome extra 8 miles on my journey.
Now, just when you think it's all over and you are cruising back to Pitlochry, the worst part of the whole circuit is sprung upon you. Because you can't take the A9, they put you up a narrow, steep and horribly undulating farm road back to the town (NCN7 also uses it - sometimes I wonder about SUSTRANS claim to be encouraging cycling!). It is a spiteful thing to do at the end of a long day's ride. I hated it, and told the roadside wildlife of my displeasure in a series of touret-like outbursts. It is even uphill back to the finish, but, frankly, by then it will be all adrenalin anyway.
It is a MAGNIFICENT circuit. Iconic Highland landscapes, complete with lochs, mountains, silver birch trees, tumbling burns, farmland and villages. I surprised a deer, several rabbits and the obvious sheep and was, in turn, buzzed by two fighter jets. After today, I am looking forward even more to sharing the ride with the thousands of others who have signed up.
12 June 2007 - Cyclosportives on the horizon
It's bike week and I haven't been out yet. Shame on me. However, I am preparing mentally for two forthcoming challenges that will stiffen the sinews: on Saturday 16th it is the annual Edinburgh to St Andrews ride (67miles) in aid of Lepra; and the following weekend, the first ever Etape Caledonia on closed roads from Pitlochry (83 miles and a stiff climb over Shiehallion included).
The Edinburgh St Andrews is really a mass participation ride, rather than a sportif, as you don't get timed and there are no prizes. Nevertheless, in the company of my powerful friend Dr C and his beautiful handbuilt Mercian, I am sure we will not be hanging around for ice creams at Cleish, home baking in Kinross or pasta in Freuchie. We'll do this as we did last year, in one glorious dash from Waverley Station in Edinburgh to the appropriately named Martyrs Memorial in St Andrews. Scenically, it is utterly spectacular: with Princes Street, the Forth Bridges, the Lomonds, Cults Hill and the last five miles downhill towards the mediaeval spires of St Andrews, it is a stunning ride. Nicely, it also passes right through my village, past my local pub. I can't wait.
3 June 2007 - Personal Trainer
I was in the pub the other night and accepted an invitation from a professional triathlon trainer to go out for a bike ride. I was expecting to tuck myself into the middle of the chain gang that meets at our local supermarket on a Sunday morning, but they were all off racing so I ended up on a two-up time trial with a man who has devoted his entire career to physical fitness and sporting elitism. Blimey! None of my other cycling companions sit on my back wheel shouting at me to push on, max out and drive through! We sprinted for the 30 signs at Elie. I won. Either because I had sucked his wheel until the last minute, or because he let me, or perhaps because I lulled him into a false sense of security. Actually, it was quite good fun, and we did, at least stop for coffee and cake at a very agreeable cafe.
28 May 2007 - Benefits of cycling
There is correspondence on the BBC cycling boards about the benefits of cycling. One poor chap shares the profoundly trivial fruits of his wandering mind whilst cycling and is berated for not having a life. What strikes me about his post is that he admits to finding himself thinking about weird random stuff when out on his bike. For me, this is one of the chief benefits of having a bike and a lot of people I know have said the same. Once you get into a rhythm; legs turning, lungs filling and emptying, heart rate steady, perspiration running off your eyebrows, then you enter the HEAD ZONE, where normal conscious thought processes, full of frenzy and anxiety, are replaced by a sort of hazy trance. It is as if your weightiest thoughts have entered zero gravity and are floating about bouncing off each other, randomly.
I am sure that is why cycle commuters are so much more effective at work. Being out on the bike really is the best stress-buster there is. Nicholas Janni confirms this to me in a mythodrama session. Apparently, neuroscientists have discovered that a part of the brain (front left lobe?) is only active during meditation. Tibetan monks expand this part of the brain during their lifetime through disciplined repetitive chant and contemplation. I'm certain that regular sustained cycling at an optimum cadence (92.6) works on that very same region of the skull to benefit the cyclist's mental and spiritual health.
20 May 2007 - All at sea
I find myself on a cruise ship (it's a long story!) for 8 days and am therefore denied any chance to train for the Summer's exertions. Until, that is, I discover the gym on deck 10 (beyond the range of the elevators and therefore strangely unpopulated). In the gym are exercise bikes. I plug myself into my portable music player, mount the strange apparatus with its ridiculously broad saddle and fiddle with the electronic display. A new world reveals itself. Preset programmes and self-selected scales of difficulty soon have me doing hill-reps at level 14 and sweating like an ox. The display tells me how many calories I have burned, how many watts I produce and how many miles (or is it kilometres?) I would have travelled, had it not been for the fact that the damned thing is screwed to the deck. As the perspiration runs in rivulets down my body, I find myself in a new and virtual world of physical exertion. Still, I'd rather be on the Alpe d'Huez.
7 May 2007 - C2C
I just did the most fantastic thing. I've been dreaming of it ever since my in-laws bought their lovely house on the West Coast. I cycled from the Clyde Estuary to the Tay Estuary. Coast to coast. And the best thing about it was the stiff westerly gale that was up my back for the whole ride. I FLEW along from Loch Lomond to Stirling, time-trialling alone to a thrilling cadence and loving every minute of it. Even the sad, stressed, Bank Holiday motorist who blasted his horn at me outside Dollar because I delayed his journey by about 7 seconds by being in his way, was magnamimously forgiven for not having discovered the sheer joy of cycling. As I turned into my garage, a bystander asked me how far I had been today. I must have sounded impossibly smug as I replied "Oh, 100 miles!".
2 May 2007 - First Century
Today was a milestone. Well, actually, a 100 milestone. For the first time in my life (as far as I can recall), I have ridden 100 miles in one day on a bicycle. If I ever did it when I was a teenager (when I didn't really keep a track of these things), I certainly never rode 100 miles without stopping, as I did today (if you forgive a couple of minutes at a village shop to buy flapjack and a sports drink). It was a beautiful day, my bike was running like a Swiss clock, my morale was high, and I swept around St Andrews, Tentsmuir, Tayport, Dundee, Errol, Perth, Bridge of Earn, Kinross, Cleish, Scotlandwell, Balgeddie, Strathmiglo, Freuchie, Cupar and the Garlie Bank to Tarvit and home. Now, I am stiff and drained, but I am very, very content.
27 April 2007 - Steel vs Carbon
I took the Super Galaxy out today for the first time since I got the Roubaix. What a contrast! Now, at last, I understand what the cycling magazines mean by a "stiff" ride compared to a frame with "flex". The SG moved beneath me; it bounced. It was eerie. I have ridden thousands of kilometres on that bike over the last four years and never noticed how much of my effort it just soaked up through its twin triangles. Remarkable. I still love it, of course, for all the places it has taken me, for all the luggage it can carry, for all the memories. But I have to say that a carbon road bike is a class apart.
17 February 2007 - New Bike
I picked up my new bike from Dales in Glasgow today. Specialized Roubaix, carbon frame, flat straightpull spokes, Dura Ace cassette, zertz dampners (to ease the road vibrations), generous head tube height (to ease an old man's back), last year's model (not just thrift, I think they have gilded the lily with the 2007 livery). Of course, a rider like me does not need a bike like this; it is a hairdresser bike, a toy. But, judging by the test ride, I am going to feel good on this thing and it is going to give me pleasure. And it's a lot cheaper than a sports car (although I paid more for it than I did for my first car). I can't wait to get out there and give it a blast.