Whether I woke up or just imagined that I did, I couldn’t tell. I only recalled being still drowsy when everyone in the room started to suit up. Meeting Mimo and Expat Matt at the dining area, we needed to pow-wow given last night’s clusterfuck. Issues before us:
- All of us barely slept.
- The next control with beds was at Kirkhill, 200+ mile / 320+ km.
- This stretch had the most elevation gain (2 steep, 2 moderate climbs) totaling 11,000+ ft / 3,600+ m.
- The non-refundable hotel rooms I reserved in Inverness only shaved off 10 miles / 16 km.
- Scotland was cold in the dark.
By my estimation, we needed to bed down somewhere closer to get some sleep for recovery.
Throughout this trek, Michael and I maintained contact. I would send him a quick status on my progress. We also needed to sort out car rental at the finish. That morning at Kirkburn, I was in no mental condition to work out logistics. In earlier revisions of our timetable, I had found lodging in the town of Tomintoul. It was just past the Braemar control but it would extend the last day’s travel to nearly 300km. I just couldn’t remember if it was before or after Lecht, the toughest climb of the day.
We exchanged texts throughout the day as he made arrangements to get us to Tomintoul.
After scavenging for whatever that was palatable at the control, Mimo, Expat Matt and I left with a group heading to Edinburgh. Crossing the River Tweed and through Peeples, we saw the steeple of the Old Parish Church with its ornate roof. The landscape was more pastural as we rode by various farms. Approaching Edinburgh, Ewan on his way to work joined us for a bit and guided us to a bakery along the route. He suggested Greggs and highly recommended their sausage rolls. After we separated, we followed his directions but to our dismay, the bakery was not open yet for business.
With our morale slightly dented, I recalled a McDonalds in Queensferry just before the Forth River crossing. Telling our stomachs to shut up, we rolled on. The route avoided Edinburgh’s city center and kept us on dedicated bike paths, but we were surrounded by industrial and office complexes. Approaching Queensferry, we saw the McDs. Not surprisingly there was a small congregation of LEJOGers. Not in my wildest dreams that I would confess my unconditional love for a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich at this point in my randonneur life.
Crossing the Firth of Forth was a momentous occasion on this journey. It meant the beginning of the end. The firth, Scottish Gaelic for estuary, separates the wilds of the Highlands from the urbanity of the Lowlands. 3 bridges cross this span of water. One of which, the Forth Bridge, represented an historic achievement in engineering. One of the greatest cantilever trussed bridges in place, its forthright and unadorned display of its structural components symbolized Scottish national identity and ingenuity. While crossing the Forth Road Bridge, I was able to see that glorious red architectural wonder in the distance on a clear Scottish morning.
Our next destination was the control at Perth. The landscape was mainly rolling green hills with a couple of short hills. Stone masonry buildings dominated towns and cities. Switching pulls, Mimo and I made a quick work to reach Perth control. At the Tesco we joined another congregation of LEJOGers grabbing food and water. Established along the banks of the River Tay, the city’s distinction was its wide boulevards through the city center. Rolling in from the south and then along the Tay, the tall spire of St Matthew’s Church dominated the skyline.
After crossing the river, I continued north and came across Castle Scone. I wondered if the ubiquitous cafe pastry was first baked at this castle and served to Scottish aristocracy with their whisky and haggis after a frustrating day hitting small balls with a crooked stick through sheep fields to claim a day of exercise. Not far down the road from the castle, I saw the “Strawberry Farm Shop” to my right, with big signs out front advertising their various strawberry derived delectables. Feeling a bit tired, I pulled in and ordered a double espresso latte with a strawberry pastry.
Continuing through green fields and pastures, we passed Blairgowrie and Rattray. From there on, the route became a steady incline as we began our ascent over the 4 upcoming summits. About this time another LEJOGer caught up to me. Earlier we crossed paths at the Queensferry McDs. We decided to ride together for a bit just to break up the monotonic day.
Not long into the conversation, I learned his name was Charles from Yorkshire. I asked in jest how it felt to ride through Lancaster as a Yorkshireman. Appreciating the underlying humor and reference to the War of the Roses, he chuckled and replied that though the war was long over, he was still proud to display the white rose of Yorkshire.
Crossing over River Ericht at the Bridge of Cally, I stumbled onto a sign for an antiquarian book shop. After bicycles, my 2nd passion is book collecting. Though I don’t always read them, I appreciate the craft and conservation of old books; how they are bound and decorated. The reification of ethereal thoughts onto pages that can be carried, leafed through and displayed reinforces that perceived permanence of ideas that could exist across time and space. Alas it is just my naive perception, as written thought has been made extinct too many times in human history. Ironically, if there were only print, I wouldn’t be able to share my ride musings with you as you read on.
Alas, my chit-chat with Charles was brief as he powered on into the mountains while I accepted my fate to lumber on in my tired state after entering the Cairngorms National Park. The landscape transformed into breathtaking views of barren windswept peaks around me. The filtered light through the scattering clouds with exposed patches of blue accentuated the folds and crevasses of the mountainside. At this time Mimo rejoined me.
The grade began to steepen about 4 miles to the top of Glenshee, the first of 4 summits. The grade reached more than 12%. A sign welcoming us to Aberdeenshire was a teaser as I crawled my way up to Cairnwell Pass, the highest public road in the UK. Passing the Glenshee ski resort, we were rewarded with an extended descent to the valley floor, with the road following along Clunie Water.
I wanted to shift up in the back as I was flying downhill. Suddenly my rear derailleur wouldn’t index properly. I could shift down as that action increased cable tension. It was when shifting up it would be sticking. Holy Mother of God! How could this failure happen so soon?!
A month ago on a 300k training ride with Michael, near the end I started to experience shifting problems in the back. When I returned home, I first examined the derailleur itself, but quickly concluded that as a dumb spring, it merely responded to cable tension. I then pulled back the right rubber hood to expose the cable to discover fraying that caused a couple of strands to snap and jam up the shifter. I changed out my shifter cables 4 months earlier. What gives? I was certain the shifter was the cause but didn’t have the time nor know-how to troubleshoot further. I replaced the cable. I decided to pack a spare shifter cable for the trip, ripping a page out of LA Matt’s playbook on how to salvage a brevet.
Reaching the Braemar control, I made a beeline for the lead worker to ask for tools. He took me to another staff worker who was washing dishes to see if he could help. This guy had an emotional meltdown, complaining how he couldn’t do multiple tasks at the same time. As he whined like a good Englishman, with what little patience I had, I calmly and very slowly said: I don’t need you to do anything. I just need you to show me where you have your tools so that I can replace the cable myself. He settled down and led me to his tool bag. I found a cutter and awl. He offered a cable as well. I took it as payment for witnessing his drama act.
In 10 minutes, I replaced the cable with the one I brought, knowing it should last over the next 350km to the finish. Other riders seeing me repair on the fly were amazed at my MacGyvering skills like a frugal Scotsman.
Mimo and I were just 31 miles to Tomintoul but still had to negotiate over 3 climbs, with the Mighty Lecht as the final obstacle. We left Braemar. Still in the valley floor, this portion of Cairngorms was wooded and the topography was relaxing as the road rolled along by the River Dee. Approaching a turn, we were near the entrance to Balmoral Castle, the British royal family’s Scottish home.
The first two climbs were manageable. Heading toward Lecht, we rolled by a brilliantly green pasture with this stunningly bright white building standing as a solitary sentry. With the sun now at the horizon, the building reflected a reddish hue.
The moment we turned onto the climb, we were greeted by a grade sign screaming “20%”. After all the miles on my legs and at most 11 hours sleep and an assortment of gear loaded on my bike, I opted discretion over vanity. I dismounted and walked the steep portions of the climb, not risk falling over and hurting myself. Soon we reached the summit and were welcomed by the Lecht ski resort, if only briefly. The sun was now well over the horizon with its trailing light fast becoming dim as we started our descent to Tomintoul. On any other occasion, bombing down from a high peak would be joyous. With the onset of night and the concomitant highland chill around 48° F made for a miserable ride after factoring in wind chill and exhaustion. Combined with a throbbing ache around my left should and left lower back, I was a broken man.
I wanted this day to end.
Soon we pulled into Tomintoul and found the Argyle Guest House where Michael booked for us. Though deep in the Scottish Highland, the guest house’s proprietors were actually New Zealanders. They were a kind couple in their retirement, enjoying a slower pace of life running this lodging to keep busy rather than to make money. After securing our bikes and grabbing our gear, we asked our host if there was any food. “I’m afraid we don’t have food.” Do you have anything canned? “No, no canned food.” Do you have leftover bread? “No. We have bread and other fresh food delivered daily and breakfast is served at 8:00AM.” Mimo and I were set to leave at 4:00AM to cover the remaining 300k. I accepted my lot and entered my room to dine instead on a serving of self-pity.
I showered, picked up my phone and set the alarm for 3:15, noting that it was 10:00PM… I put my head down to finally enjoy a soft bed, clean sheets and finally sleep to recover from a tough couple of days….
- Distance – 149 miles / 240 km
- Elevation – 9,609 ft / 2,929 m