"Scotland is so gorgeous that every
time I'm there, I start to dream of living
there. I want to buy one of those whitewashed
cottages and gaze out at the sea and read
my books."
Julie London
I am thrilled that I am going to be able to return to Scotland to ride again. I adore Scotland. Every time I have been I have been bowled over by the beauty, the greenness, the wild open spaces. There is just something fresh and clean about it, something that straightens your spine and seems to slap you in the face saying, "Wake up! Wake up! You are alive. Accept the gift. Live." At least that is how I feel when out from the cities where the green enfolds you in her arms and the land stretches as far as the sky and the water roars with life and energy.
I even like Edinburgh despite the fact it is a city, something I normally am not comfortable with. I like the way it hums and wraps itself around you. Like Julie London, being in Scotland always makes me dream of living there, but of course I would need to ride bikes and not just read. I dearly love them both. The only thing I don't like about Scotland is the travel getting there. I am not a good traveler. Not patient. And flying makes my ears hurt. It is what it is, however, and can't be avoided. And living there will never happen. It is but a pipe dream. They have no desire to have old, retired women come to live there. "Would I," I wonder, "still love it so much if it were my life?" The grass is always greener you know. Adages normally, by definition, have a basis in truth.
Dave King, a good friend, and I are traveling over together to ride across the country from east to west with Wilderness Scotland, from Aberdeen to Shieldiag and around the Applecross Loop. Despite being relatively sure I will be able to do it, I still have doubts, particularly after reading about a climb with sustained twenty percent grades. Still I know the days distances are on the short side and that there are frequent stops, much more frequent than I would normally ride. Plus the gearing on the bikes is easier than my own. I have come to accept that is me, this doubt that hangs on my shoulders like a backpack weighted with stones whether merited or not. Lloyd would always reassure me, but now I am left to reassure myself. Still, there are times I swear he whispers in my ears, urging me onward. And so, I pack my bags and head out to my daughter's home as she is going to take me to the airport so that I can avoid the parking fees.
The plane is, of course, delayed, as happens as often as not anymore. We sit for awhile on the tarmac. Because of this, our layover in Atlanta is shortened. We barely have time to grab something to eat rather than sitting down to a meal as anticipated. We eat hot dogs. I can't remember the last time I ate a hot dog. It is the precursor to a week of wonderful, delicious food that will make up for having to eat hot dogs, but a terrible diet that will leave me dreaming of broccoli and veggies. Someone once told me the food in Scotland was terrible. Absolutely not true. Compared to here it is heavenly. You order and wait while they actually cook it, not pop it in a microwave, as it was here when I was young.
Before you know it, hotdogs downed, we are back on our way. The flight is long but uneventful other than the man in the seat in front of me reclining to the point where I feel as if his head is in my lap. I even manage to sleep a bit, something that never comes easily to me on an airplane.
When we arrive in Edinburgh, the sound of the Scottish accent teases my ears and brings a grin of anticipation to my face. We pass easily through customs and take the tram to our motel. It is quite basic, but also quite meets my needs and is clean. We leave our bags and take off to roam the streets.
We spend a couple of days here before heading to Aberdeen, climbing Authur's Seat, going to the Art Museum, and just walking around. It warms my heart when Dave suggests the art museum because I know it is probably only because he knows how I like art. It is a lovely climb to Arthur's Seat even if easier than before the rock fall and being a different time of year than when I have visited in the past, there are flowers that I have not seen in bloom here before. I later learn the yellow flowers are Broom. There are daisies just as there are at home which make me think of gathering them to brighten our home when Lloyd and I first married. There are other flowers who seem strange but beautiful to me. It is not overly crowded, but by the time we leave it is beginning to be. The view is amazing but I walked off without my phone or camera. I try to impress the views on my mind to compensate for it very well may be the last time I visit here.
I wish we had bought tickets to a play. We try to go see the castle, but tickets are sold out for the days were are there. We try to eat at The End of the Earth again, but it is full and we are turned away. We roll with the punches. It's all good.
We take a train to Aberdeen the day before our adventure is to begin. Once there, we again walk, this time to the ocean. We decide to have our meal there from one of the food trucks that line the road bordering the ocean and to risk the chance of getting rained on. I have not seen this view before. Dave has, but the tide was out the last time. I am surprised when our food is freshly made and actually delicious. It is fun to sit there enjoying the moment and yet anticipating the start of our journey the next day, to see the ocean stretch out before us and the offshore windmills at work. We are joined by a starling who would like to share in our meal.
I am surprised at the large rescue boats we see and their construction: so tall and heavy seeming on the front and so empty and flat behind. It makes me wonder how they work and why they are built the way they are. I never figure it out. There are a couple of light houses and sea gulls sway and cry in the air around us. We are amused at the antics of a medium sized black dog who is having the time of his life with his owner. He leaps in the air repeatedly, every wiggle of his furry body showing his joy at being out for a romp with the person he loves. I can't help but grin. There is just something about a happy dog that brings a smile to the face. Such pure enjoyment of the moment. Another dog, a small wiener dog, is not so cute. He becomes aggressive with every dog that passes. Since they are at a table near us, it becomes rather annoying.
After our lunch, we head out to find another bag for Dave as he feels it will be easier to take things back if he has another bag. We stop at a small pub for a beer (Dave) and a glass of wine (me). Since it is Scotland, the sun pops in and out and I am constantly taking off and putting on my jacket. This will continue throughout the rest of my stay.
After looking at the forecast, I begin to obsess a bit about the wind. The high is predicted to be 55 with a feel like temp of 48. Showers and rain. Wind WNW at 20 mph with gusts of 35. 82 percent cloud cover. I am prepared for the rain with my relatively new Showers Pass jacket and the clothing I brought, but the wind frightens me. Other than regularly riding in wind, there just is no good way that I know of to prepare for it. Even though the first day is only 45 miles, Aberdeen to Ballatar, that can seem an eternity when going into a strong head wind.
There has also been a change in guides. Our original guide, Dan, will join us the second day of the ride and we will have someone named Aaran. Then another email that Scott would be our guide. There is only one other person going on the trip and Dave and I debate whether it will be a male or female. Dave hopes it is a female so he has a private room. It turns out the third person is James, a farmer who took up bicycling during the pandemic. He turns out to be a very strong cyclist and a really interesting person. I end up finding myself quite enjoying his stories of his life as a sheep and cattle farmer, of the plays he performs in during the winter when it is dark and cold and little to do, of his children and his wife and a life quite different from my own. We find we enjoy the works of a mutual author, Bill Bryson, and we both like musicals. And we both like bicycles. He is training for a ride that he wants to do with his son and, after seeing how strong he is on the bike, I have no doubt he will have a great ride.
After meeting Scott at the train station, we have a bike fit and head off. The rented bikes are Trek Madones. 45 miles with 2,340 feet of climbing so, without the wind, a relatively easy day. But with the wind and not sleeping well the previous night, I have qualms. The days of walking have left me a bit stiff. But I did not come to Scotland to ride around in a van. I came to ride a bike.
Once we leave the more crowded roads of Aberdeen, I feel myself beginning to relax and enjoy myself. I am not sure I will every really enjoy city riding and I am glad to leave Aberdeen behind me. It rains on and off, but at one point it absolutely begins to pour. It is strangely exhilarating. I shake my fist at it and at the wind and continue pushing one pedal and then the other. There is nothing like a strong wind to humble a person, particularly a person on a bicycle.
With the deluge, I stop to put on my jacket and a few moments later no longer need it. It is, after all, Scotland. This donning and shedding become a theme. The rain comes and goes, but other than that one brief moment when the wind keened and the rain slammed into me feeling like ice pellets, it is gentle. The rain, not the wind. The wind continues to slap me, and since we are riding apart now we are out of the Aberdeen, it is just me and the cursed wind. I adjust my pace, (to quote Jon W., "We have ALL day.") put my head down, and move on. The scenery takes my mind off of the discomfort of getting bludgeoned. I am just glad I am here. So many thoughts of difficult brevets cross my mind, brevets with obstacles other than distance or in addition to distance: wind, rain, snow, heat, cold, hills. In the end, it is about perseverance I suppose. I have always admired the ability of humans to persist and endure against the odds despite our frailty. There is a certain nobility in that, or so it seems to me. Still, I don't FEEL strong much of the time, but weak and slow, the weak link, the chubby anchor. But I plunge onward, determined.
The next day also brings wind and rain. This time the forecast is for 20 to 30 mph winds from the NW with gusts of over 40. Chance of rain eighty percent. I prepare myself as best I can, sleeping once I figure out how to turn off the heat in the room. The winds cow me, but I keep reminding myself of how proud I will feel if I manage to ride all the way across the country while fighting such an enemy. Without the wind, in the amount of time we are taking, it is but a meager accomplishment, but fighting the wind it IS an accomplishment. The guides, now Dan and Scott (Aaran leaves after breakfast) remind us that they switch riding and have a rest day every other day. Plus they are younger and just generally stronger. But they are encouraging and kind.
There are three significant hills coming up today as we head through Cairngorms National Park. Some have twenty percent grades, one of which is Lecht pass.
The Lecht - Vital Statistics
Overall Distance: 2.583 miles
Climbing Distance: 1.9 miles
Descent Distance: 0.62 miles
Flat: 0.06 miles
Total Ascent: 931ft
Longest Ascent: 0.95 miles
Longest Descent: 0.34 miles
Highest Point: 2112ft at 1.9 miles
Total Descent: 160ft
Steepest Ascent: 20% at 0.06 miles
Steepest Descent: -7.8% at 0.73 miles
Ave Gradient: 5.6%
I manage to scramble up the climbs keeping near to the middle of the lane as occasionally the wind switches from a head to a cross wind and rudely grabs my wheel trying to wrest if from my grasp reminding me of when Diesel Dog (Mike Kamenish) and I rode out hurricane Ike all those years ago and how I could not take my hands off the handlebar long enough to drink. Then to add insult to injury, when we stopped to drink, I bought a can of pop and the wind pulled half of it out of the can before I could take a swallow. How I kissed his wheel that day all day.
During one of the climbs, my legs begin to cry. I think of how glad I am that I have been riding some tough hills at home. And there is no denying, despite my cursing and hurting, the climbs are lovely and some weird part of me enjoys them, the challenge that they pose. Halfway up the van is stopped and James is stopped, but I ride on. The van would be too tempting when my legs are aching and my mind is wanting to quit. The bikes do have easy gearing, but the hills are not just steep but long. And of course, there is the wind. The mind, of course, wants me to quit before I have to: somethings brevets taught me. One of the hills today, Amelia and I climbed in the opposite direction and that year, out of eight riders, only Amelia, I, and one other made it. And that was a number of years ago and without the wind though it did rain that year. Indeed, the rain was worse then than today. So I celebrate my success when I crest.
The views are spectacular, more than worth the efforts of the climbs, and despite the weather, Grantown-on-Spey comes too soon. Because of the gap between arrival and dinner, something that happens each day, I shower and then head out to walk around the town a bit. James keeps getting bath tubs, but alas, all my rooms have only showers. They do, however, have heated towel racks that allow me to wash and dry my riding clothes overnight as needed. My room is also, up stairs, and I tease the men that at the end of the week, I will have more climbing in my legs than they will have in theirs because of these blasted stairs.
Lunch is at a lovely inn with huge sandwiches. Dinner is at a beautiful restaurant lit with fairy lights. There are stag horn chandeliers that are laced with dried herbs. Dave has mutton. It is worth everything to see Dave's face as his food arrives. I have never met anyone else who takes such enjoyment in eating. I settle on steak, a rare treat. We both have sticky toffee pudding. Gentle conversation hums this night, mostly about sports. Much of it does not interest me as I am not a watcher but a doer, but I still enjoy the caressing murmur of their voices, the laughter, and revel in the company. It makes me think how much of my life has become solitary since I lost Lloyd. There is a warmth here in the presence of others that gives the meal a special feeling that it might otherwise lack despite being delicious. I don't think solitude is particularly healthy, but what is a person to do?
The next day also brings climbs, and while there is wind, it is nothing like what it has been. We climb the Garbole on our way to Drumnadrochit. Long stretches of blooming Rhododendron being to line the road in places. The wind, while not so strong, has begun to affect my breathing and I am glad I brought my buffs that I can pull up over my mouth to warm my breath and give my throat some relief. It is cold at times and I find my feet freezing at one point, but the scenery takes my mind off any discomfort and climbs warm me up. Like Kentucky, there is little flat. One is usually going up or down. At one point, I add a balaclava to my head which also helps to warm me. I think how glad I am that I brought warm gloves. My hands never really bother me.
One thing I have had to adjust to, other than riding on the other side of the road and roundabouts, are the single track roads. There are places on each side for drivers or riders to pull over to allow traffic coming the other direction to pass. Some cars are good about yielding. Others not so much. I can't think of ever running into this in the states, but then I have not ridden in all the states. I remember some of the single track roads from a previous ride in Scotland, but not so very many. At times, it makes it hard to get into a rhythm with the constant yielding or being yielded to, a dance between bikes and cars.
And the following day it is off to North Kessock. We start the day with a short cruise on Loch Ness. The best part of the cruise is when the captain allows two young boys to steer a bit. They were so proud of themselves. It was a very kind thing of him to do. But we never see Nessie. Or I guess I should say the real Nessie. Dave conquers the false one that sits at the dock.
I believe it was on this day that we came upon a young lamb whose head is stuck in a fence but the days begin to blur and merge into one another. I am no longer able to sort chronologically and, despite bringing my laptop, I have not been diligent about my trip log . Ride, walk around a bit, eat, sleep, an old familiar pattern, like coming home. Unlike my previous trips, I don't go out exploring in the mornings. I save my energy. I implore James to help the lamb and, with some difficulty, he is able to free the lamb whose mother is patiently waiting. Also, while riding alone one day, I stop seeing sheep being moved to another pasture. It is so interesting to see the dog work. How he crouches when told, then herds, then crouches. The sheep obey and it is over all too soon.
One day lunch was in the van as there was no place near the route to eat. It had been raining quite a bit prior to this and we shiver as we sit in the van refueling for the next round of road. As soon as the rain eases, I pop out and restart. At one point, I take my first "wild wee" after being assured that I will not end up in jail over it so long as I am discrete. Then the next to last riding day there is a special lunch in what seems to be a mansion. I "think" they said it is a hunting lodge of some type. I am amazed when I learn what people will pay to hunt and fish. If I remember correctly, it is over a thousand dollars AND they are not allowed to keep the fish. But then, look what I have spent on bicycles over the years. It always surprises me how much money there is in the world. We are served finger sandwiches on a silver platter, crust cut off the bread, and mushroom soup followed by cake. It seems rather formal, but it is lovely and I quite enjoy it.
And then we are finally at Sheildaig facing the biggest climb of the trip. There is quite a bit of time before dinner, so I walk along the short anticipating and worrying the next day and climbing Bealach na Ba and doing the Applecross loop:
- Location: Bealach-Na-Ba, N.W. Scotland
- Distance: 9.1 km
- Average gradient: 7%
- Maximum gradient: 20%
- Height gain. 626m
After dinner, they tell us that there are several climbs after the big one. It does not look that way on the map they give us, but I take their word for it. If they think it is a climb, I will certainly know it to be a climb.
Morning dawns and we head out. I am tired and have the beginnings of a stuffy nose. I noticed it yesterday and hoped it was allergies, but it was not. Oh, well, it is what it is. I worry more about flying while congested than I do riding while congested. At least, I think, it is not rainy or overly windy today. I figure that all the cold, wet, windiness of the week along with later nights than usual and constant daily riding have taken their toll. Still my legs are not sore and my mind is not tired, just my body. I look forward to seeing what the day will hold.
When we reach the beginning of the climb, we can't proceed as they have closed the road for a bit due to blowing up an old oil rig in the ocean. We head next door to a cafe to wait.
After a coke, my first of the trip, the
road opens and we head out. Just the look of the climb is
intimidating, but I know it is like anything else. One foot in front
of the other until the job is done. At first the climb seduces you
into thinking it is gradual, but then it ramps up. Fortunately or
unfortunately, the road is all single track which means constant
pulling over and stopping for vehicles or vehicles stopping and
pulling over for me. This makes the climb easier I suppose, in
one sense as there are numerous stops along the climb that give the
legs a few seconds of reprieve, but it also means that I can never
establish a climbing rhythm and restarting on the steeper parts of
the climb is difficult. Still, my fears of not being able to restart due to the steepness never come to pass.
In some ways, parts of the climb remind me of Texas, but in others it is a strange, unknown beauty. Like the US, each different place has its own charm and beauty. Dan is waiting at the top with the van and even one person I don't know says “Go, Melissa.” I have made it though, like the others, I will never know if I would have been successful without the brief pauses. I “Think” I would have, but will never know. Regardless, I have made it to the top and there is a lovely descent to the cafe where we will have lunch that sits along the oceans.
I would not want
to do that descent without disc brakes and my fingers are aching by
the time we reach the bottom. The descent is technical with lots of
switch backs, not one of those descents where you can just let go,
fly, and enjoy. I chill during the descent and think about the
professional riders and how hard it must be not being able to stop
and add or take off clothing. On the ascent, I am sweating. Luckily
Dan talked me into switching gloves. I had to take my glasses off.
But on the descent, I am freezing. With so many ups and downs, it is
almost impossible to know how to dress and of course, I am already
frustrated with all the stopping and starting.Of course, the descent leaves me aching to know if I could successfully climb it in that direction. I point out to Dan and Scott that if 10 miles per day were added to the other days, one day the ride could go one direction and the next the other. Nobody but me seems very enthralled with this thought;-)
The inn we eat at lies across from the Island of Skye. We eat, for us, rather lightly, and take back off having been warned yet again that while the profile shows the rest of the route as being flat, it is far from flat. There are number climbs, some of them with quite a bite to them and quite challenging. But oh, some of the views are spectacular, enough to make one weep. At one point, a white van that was supposed to stop at the passing spot on his side of the road ignores it and comes close to hitting me. I refuse to yield as on my left is a guard rail protecting against a sheer drop. I would probably survive a car/cyclist accident, but I would not survive that fall. I am very uncomfortable at times with how close cars come, but this was the worst and I found it frightening.
We are lucky as the rain has held off
and get in with only a light sprinkling. I feel rather guilty as
James and Scott and Dave have waited for me. Scott is paid to wait,
but the other two are not. But they don't seem to mind. And we finish. As always, I have that feeling of joy at the accomplishment and sadness and regret that the adventure is over. Tomorrow we will be transported back to Inverness and we will part ways. I will take a train to Edinburgh and fly out the following day, James is taking a train to join his wife, Dave is staying in Inverness for a day or two, and the guides are headed home to the arms of their family. It does not seem possible that a week has passed, but it has. Time just has a way of doing that. Perhaps it is better to leave wanting more rather than tiring of the experience. Again, I count my blessings and send a prayer of thanks upwards. Health, bicycles, Scotland, and friends. Could it get any better than this?
When I return, I send the following email to the guides, every word heartfelt.
But I have run on enough. I hope this email reaches you both and that you are safely ensconced in the arms of your loved ones. Blessings on you and yours. Melissa Hall
And a few more photos:
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