Now I like a bit of speed myself. Ah! Let me clarify that before either the cops or the ghost of my mother break down the front door – what I mean is that sometimes when I go out cycling I like to get the head down over the bars and just blast it. But there are other times when cycling is at its best when it is a voyage of exploration when you feel quite confortable stopping every hundred metres or so to look at whatever aspect of scenery, architecture etc. is in front of you. This is most always a feature of my Saturday rides with Alan and Matthew and it is a very pleasant antidote to the fast and frenetic pace of other rides.

Such a ride occurred today. I had decided to commute to work (despite it being the coldest day of the autumn so far) and used the free afternoon to go for a wee donner along the Renfrewshire roads in the glorious sunshine. Apart from anything else, it was the first real outing on the Surly so it would be interesting to see how it did over a longer distance than my Thursday night jaunt.

The route took me along from Renfrew to Bishopton and then up the Old Greenock Road to the Monkey House – so named because of the monkey stone statues adorning several roofs. This particular gem is Formakin House and it was designed by Sir Robert Lorimer for John Augustus Holms at the start of the 20th century. Holms planned and laid out the formal gardens before the house was was built, including a fountain, oriental and walled gardens, all joined by paths set with heart shaped stones. Somewhat of an eccentric, he did not suffer trespassers,and arranged tripwires in the grounds to catch out unwary visitors and land them in a muddy puddle. The house was built in the style of a 17th century mansion and its trueness to style is remarkable and fooled many experts. That the whole design was approached with a spark of humour is evident in the carved date of 1694 on a shield on one of the walls, accompanied by the letters DL, standing for Damned Lie The house was later owned by another eccentric, AE Pickard, who had a penchant for American cars but got bored when they broke down and simply left them lying about the estate while he swanned off in another purchase. Now transformed into several flats and smaller properties, it is nice to see the estate lived in again.

It’s little gems like this that make going out and about on the bike fun -and it’s especially worth it on these rare crisp but lovely days. Spirits were duly uplifted, and 30 miles notched up. And yes I did allow myself a little bit of a blast along the Georgetown Road just to see how the Surly did at speed. Marvellous all round.

gateway to the grounds of The Monkey House

one the few remaining monkeys

Damned Lies

A nice Sunday and no Sky Ride! How will I cope? I know: I’ll ask if Andrew and Flt Bear fancy a wee hurl along the Forth and Clyde canal to that engineering marvel, the Falkirk Wheel. *Gets on Facebook and sends message* *Response – a clear yes.* Now this is going to be a mountain bike run as the path is a bit rough in places and the new cyclo cross bike isn’t ready yet. Plus, with last night’s clock change it will also be getting dark towards the end of the run so lights are essential.

Off we set, a bit later than scheduled but encountering very little in the way of fellow travellers on the route. The voyage through Glasgow was uneventful and surprisingly warm so one of the extra layers I’d put on was duly shed. And so onwards through Kirkintilloch and Bishopbriggs. The canal path is not particularly wide so progress was slowed down whenever we encountered other path users. We reached the Wheel at about 3pm and stopped for a coffee and a photo session. The latter took longer than I had intended but since the Wheel had not been in operation on my previous visits I thought I’d risk a bit of darkness on the way back. Boy was that “bit of darkness” an understatement! Fortunately there was enough moonlight to actually see where the canal was (as opposed to path!) but there were a couple of hairy moments when a barrier appeared out of nowhere and a dumper truck suddenly materialised. 50 miles or near enough and about 3 and a half hours. But a marvellous spectacle.

Today saw the last Sky Ride of the current season and quite apart from commenting on what a lovely ride it was in the autumn sunshine, it seemed appropriate to comment on how I feel this initiative has gone. I was a late addition to the ride leader team but in the eight weeks or so that I have been involved I have thoroughly enjoyed myself and have felt really quite proud to have been involved. It is not an initiative for the lycra-clad superheroes but is more aimed at the general public either new to cycling or wanting a more social ride, and I have particularly enjoyed seeing ordinary members of the public furthering their cycling skills and more to the point enjoying themselves. I liked that the ride levels catered for a broad sweep of abilities, especially with the lower ones being suitable for families. It was good as a leader to experience all of the levels as it made me see fully just how much potential the initiative has. It is not perfect at the moment but its potential to be a major influence in getting people fom all walks of life “on their bikes” is not in question. That British Cycling and Sky are investing in leader feedback sessions also encourages me that the influence will continue. I look forward to being part of this wonderful scheme next year and I would very much like to take my own involvement up a level and become a ride designer. Roll on next summer.

A View from the Bridge

Sky riders on top of the world

Some things are best left unasked

Autumn Glasgow skyline

Ah yes William Wallace. No, not my brother-in-law in Australia; the other one. He who has become one of Scotland’s best-kent heroes despite most people in Scotland knowing next to nothing about him other than what Hollywood told them in that load of of crap, the movie Braveheart. However, the Braveheart I was interested in today was a 44-mile bicycle ride in aid of the Braveheart fund – a charity which funds training for up and coming young Scottish cyclists. I entered this event last year as a very novicey novice cyclist and only did the 20-mile route. This year was of course to be a bigger challenge – even if this involved the Eaglesham Moor and several other quite lumpy bits of countryside. If you trawl back to last year’s entry, you will find that the event took place is brilliant autumn sunshine. And of course, as it was also my birthday, it was odds on that this year’s would follow suit

Not.

It was a dreich October morning when I set off at 9.15am and it was a dreich and windy morning when I arrived at the start line in Kilmarnock. My ride buddies for the event were Ian and Angela from Walkers. Ian and I have ridden before and I know he is of a similar standard to me – i.e. pish on hills! Off we set, for some reason tacked on to the end of the people who would be averaging 18mph. Hah! Only if it was all downhill methinks! It did, however, become apparent that we were not going to be the slowest on parade and I was delighted to actually be overtaking people. It was all going swimmingly (almost ltierally at one point when a large puddle loomed up out of nowhere). There was however the small matter of me not seeming to have any leg muscles with me. I don’t know if my efforts of the previous weekend were only just beginning to bite, but I was knackered. Gubbed. Whacked, Deid, and all that sort of thing. But as it was simpler to carry on that return, on I kept with Ian in sight ahead of me at all times. Angela had decided it was way too cold to be hanging around with the oldies and had shot off. The challenge of Eaglesham Moor went better than anticipated and the only real problem was that my feet were getting very cold as I had forgotten my overshoes. Well to be more truthful, in a senior moment I had packed a pair of arm warmers instead. However, on I plodded (I think – couldn’t really feel my feet at one point) and eventually we turned a corner which mercifully took us out of the wind for a few miles. Anyway, rather than recount the entire 44 miles, I shall mention only the highlights: first the classic comedy moment of when I caught up with Ian and Emma at a turning point whose angle was being blocked by one of the SAG wagons. My brain was screaming at my foot to unclip, but it just wasn’t listening. I have no idea how but I managed to get a foot down just as I was passing the point of no return in that classic sideways slow-motion fall with a rictus grin on my face. Crisis (and colossal embarrassment) averted. Other highlights of course included the wonderful downhill stretch to the finish line.

My time for the event was pants (3hrs 28mins) but I hadn’t relised the headwind was quite as strong until I heard the real cyclists tallking about it. That of course made up considerably for what I had thought was just lack of trying on my part.

So have I improved in a year? I reckon so. Average speed has increased and hill ability has certainly come on. But the event did serve to show me that I am still only at best an average cyclist. I have a fair bit of work to do before I will consider myself a good one. Next year’s event will be the real test, not just in measuring like with like distance-wise but also in reassuring myself that another year added to the grand tally of middle age is not going to be a disadvantage. And anyway, Ian is still going to be older than me!

And lastly, this sort of challenge for next year clearly justifies the third bike I bought for my birthday.

Happy birthday to me.

Those who were alive in AD122 – apart from Sir Cliff Richard, Bruce Forsyth and at least half of the Rolling Stones – included one Emperor Hadrian who was worried about the mighty Roman army being shown up in skirmishes by bands of raiding wee hairy ginger folk from the north. Hadrian’s response to this potential affront was to build a wall. Well, history records that he built a wooden barrier at first, and no doubt had to change his mind in hunc effectum once the wee jock nyaffs started nicking the wood for making cabers. One would of course have thought that Hadrian, the beneficiary of that splendid classical education that the ed-yoocashunal heidies keep boasting about should have twigged that a pile of wood was not going to repel the ranks of the erm… rank -personal hygiene not being what it is now – in terms of a fortification. Quite apart from that, the fact was that Hadrian’s Fence just didn’t cut it as the name for a major raiding deterrent (more B&Q than PDQ), and its total lack of fierceness and foreboding was more likely to have the Caledonii falling down with laughter than runing off in fright. And so it became apparent that a rebuild was necessary. The rest, as they say, is history.

Or at least it was until this weekend.

Along with another 13 intrepid cycling types, this wee not-hairy person made a new onslaught on Mr Hadrian’s piddly bit of wall. My third Charity Adventure ride of this year started at picturesque Ravenglass on the west coast. From there we cycled the 53 miles to Silloth on relatively flat terrain with little to hinder us except for an escaped herd of Cumbrian coos. Day 2 started with another long and flat stretch before we started to hit the lumpy bits. And boy were they lumpy. 20 miles of grade 5-9%. And then, after a nice filling slab of rocky road at Lanercost Priory, we encounterd our first major climb of the trip – the 14% back up to the wall. 14 sweaty people finally made it up to the top – thankfully with the stomach contents still in place, although the rocky road did nearly take the high road in a highly projectile manner at one point – an effect which, had it happened, might just have resembled a well-aimed rock being hurled from a ballista. We did make it, however, to the top at Housesteads and posed a while atop the wall to have oor picters took as the Caledonii no doubt would have said.

Day 3 started with a minor climb – a mere 15% – out of Greenhead. Mercifully short but still a lung-buster and still a bit of a concern after a hearty breakfast. And just when we thought it couldn’t get any worse undulation-wise, of course it did. The climb out of Vindolanda registered as a 20% on my Garmin. Of course it was imperative that I stopped to admire the view half way up!

A light lunch of full carvery plus pudding was followed by the last leg of our journey over to Newcastle. Back to relative flat but of course the only real climb occurred immediately after lunch. I appear to be getting very good at restraining my stomach contents, which is probably just as well. Our trip back to Tynemouth was in pleasant sunshine and our arrival at the Spanish Battery coincided with the setting of the sun – all very atmospheric especially after 174 miles. My lovely husband had driven for three hours to come and get me (aw sweet) and it took us a further three hours to get home. I think. I have no idea as I didn’t see anything between Carlisle and home.

So, that was Hadrian’s Wall. Not as daunting a ride as I’d prevously thought – more of a rockery than a wall actually. All in all a great weekend: good ride especially over the hiily stretch, great company, and money raised for a worthy cause – Parkinson’s UK. Think the next challenge has to be C2C next year – then I’ll have done the most difficult of the CHADs. Bring it on.

So this wee Scot made it unscathed into (and back out of) bandit country. Just shows you that maybe us being no longer hairy and scary looking has helped.

And I’m not ginger either!

Centurion cycling helmets?

The long and winding road

We kept right on...

Freedom!!!!!

Two of us intrepid Walkers’ cyclists elected to make use of the Saturday sunshine to push the boundaries of leisure cycling.

Colin Doyle and my good self (Sandy had wussed out on the pretext of a wedding and Alan and Matthew were unavailable) made a 55 mile round trip from Milton in West Dunbartonshire, taking in three lochs in the process.

Our route included making our way up to Balloch, Loch Lomond on the N7 cycle path which is rapidly becoming familiar territory to me. From there we went onwards to Tarbet via the West Loch Lomond cycleway. It’s the first time I’ve used this route and I was impressed as I had heard horror tales of the A82. The cycleway offers a much safer alternative and is a combination of the old shore road and a roadside path up the side of Loch Lomond from Balloch.

We then took advantage of the relative quiet to cycle the short distance on the A82 over to Arrochar for a pit-stop – appropriately enough at the Pit Stop Diner -before heading down Loch Fyne to Ardmay. Our good progress throughout the day suffered a slight set back at the steep hill at Portincaple, but the uphill struggle (well, Okay – the uphill walk) of these particular adventurers was rewarded with a fast descent to the last of the day’s three lochs – the Gareloch. The last leg back through Shandon and Helensburgh was conducted at a steady 16mph, and these “leisure cyclists” arrived back at Milton with over a century of miles clocked up between us. Colin claimed 55 miles while my extra miles to and from Erskine gained me 65miles for the day. Lovely sunshine and lovely scenery. Splendid!

the bonnie banks near Luss

Pleased to report my bum no longer looks big in lycra

As posted previously, I have recently become a ride leader for the Sky Ride initiative and over the past three weeks I have been undertaking several rides in statu assistant leader rather than as a participant. My inaugural ride was somewhat of a baptism of fire when I was asked to stand in as assistant leader on the recognised most difficult ride on the south side of Glasgow. Then a major skelp along Mosspark Boulevard to assist on a second ride – the “skelp” beng necessary as the morning ride had overshot its allocated time considerably.

However, today I undertook my first ever ride as yer actual leader rather than assistant het, on the second of two rides through the “redeveloping” east end of Glasgow. Nice groups. Had an interesting encounter with some neds in Shettleston who, after I firmly requested that they remove themselves from the middle of the road, said I should be riding a broom rather than a bike. I must take after my mother after all. It was a reasonable ride although some small children and a couple fo very unfit adults meant that we had to go a lot more slowly than the ride level implied. However, all duly delivered safely back to the start point. Phew. Look forward to the next ones.

My fellow ride leaders were also amused by the etiquette and environmental awareness of the River Clyde Walkway jakies who, rather than smash them or leave them lying around, bag up their empty Buckie bottles and hang them on the railings awaiting collection by Glasgow’s finest midgie men. If only the rest of the citizenry would follow their example.

Ride Guide extraordinaire

You may, dear reader, have perused my section on the early days of my cycling hobby. There you would have noticed that my formative cycling years featured a bike called a Hercules Jeep. Now if ever a name was appropriate, this was it. Not so much a bike as a tank, complete with whirs and clanks, no gears, unstoppable when on a descent and unstartable on an ascent. (On an aside, I am amused by the current fashion for single speed bicycles. They are the modern incarnation of the Hercules Jeep and its ilk and all the pain they brought with them.) You may also remember from that section that an early memory was of being the last one up the mountain that is the Larkfield Road in Greenock, mostly because I could not make it up while in the saddle – unlike my pals who raced away over the horizon before I’d so much a puffed my way to the first base. It has remained with me as a symbol of my failure as a pedaller – an albatross on two wheels.

So, on the first anniversary of my reborn cycling career, I thought I’d celebrate by seeing if I could lay this old ghost to rest. Under the guise of a cycling lesson for my good friend Jill, we came back from our grand tour of the Esplanade via Gourock Pier and thence to the foot of the Larkie.

And then, like a phoenix from the flames, I set off up the hill at top speed and raced without missing a breath to the top.

Well. Maybe not. But I did get up it without pushing once. The foot went down a couple of times.

But, dear reader, I made it. And, I rather suspect that my pals were at it when they said they cycled the whole way up it.

Yeah!

Now I’m not one to name-drop, as indeed I said to Lance Armstrong the other day, but there I was minding my own business today at the Glasgow Sky Ride when who should come along and insist on meeting me but Chris Hoy – Sir of that ilk.

Well. Maybe that’s not quite how it happened but it does make a good story. My taking part in the Glasgow Sky Ride part was accurate; three hours handing out information about Sky Ride Local to the great west of Scotland public plus two wheechs round the actual ride route with my fellow Trekkers Alan and Matthew. Now, it is really great to see 13,000 people getting on their bikes and the fact that the majority of the Sky Ride Locals are fully booked is equally brilliant. Anything that gets the Scottish public away from their wiis and Big Brother has to be good. We’re a long way away from the Dutch level of cycling involvement but this is a start. Bu there dos need to be a co-ordnated approach and why get kids interested in cycling only for it to be too dangerous for them to do so much as cycle to school.

For me, a good day in that I got to know some of my Sky Ride colleagues and felt that I had actually contributed something to the proceedings. Looking forward to my first “official” ride leads.

A Hoy there

Trekkies go Local

Oh my! A big day today as it was my first “proper”ride hanging in among the Walkers big guns. Myself, Sandy Muir and Colin Doyle had agreed among ourselves that we would form a “slow” group as we had always wanted to do the legendary “Three Fairies” Ferries ride. For the uninitiated, this is a route that takes in the Gourock-Dunoon ferry, a huckle over the hill to Colintraive, the ferry from there to Rhubodach on Bute, a quick belt round to Rothesay, then the ferry back to Wee Mrs Bay. Easy, I hear you say – half the time you spend lazing about on boats. Wrong. The hill I mentioned is a mere 20% and there are some additional undulating bits before and after it.

We met up at with the A and b groups at Gourock and off we set. A spot of drafting for the first stretch and I felt good – pootling along at a comfortable 19mph. “Great,” I thought, “I’m one of the big guns now”. Well, I was for about half an hour before getting well and truly dropped on the first set of hills. Thereafter myself, Sandy and Colin were definitely the C group. We got to the big hill after a truly sensational (in all senses of the word) downhill from Loch Tarsan. Colin and I adopted a position at the back as Sandy attacked the slope. We had just congratulated ourselves on struggling up the first incline when we rounded a bend to see Sandy off and pushing. That was the psychological advantage well and truly gubbed, I’m afraid and a spell of pushing became necessary. However, we did get back on for the top strech and made it to the top in the saddle. a smashing down then followed and a sprint (yes, a sprint) to the Colintraive ferry. The road over to Rothesay allowed us to practise some chain ganging (another new skill learned) and we managed an average speed of 17mph right over to the lunch rendezvous point where we met the B group already ensconced.

The day ended for me with the ride back from Wemyss bay to Gourock where I had left the car, and again a decent average speed of 17mph was achieved. 41 miles in total at an average speed of 14mph. Pretty good – especially in light of the hills.

So home I got, knackered and hot but reasonably pleased. Today was about testing myself over distance and routes that the top riders in the club would do. This was a hilly route I don’t think I did myself any disservice, and I now know what I have to do to become a cyclist rather than just someone who cycles. Thanks to the top guns for letting us tag along – this is why I like Walkers CC.

A,B and C on the Gourock ferry

Sandy and me on the Colintraive-Rhubodach ferry - Still smiling after the FGH

Victorian toilets?