Boots on again

I've been a bit lazy, not posting up here. I was going to do an end-of-year round-up but every time I thought about it I got a bit depressed that I'd actually done so little. My mind has therefore started to focus more on plans for 2013. First priority is getting Mim up Mount Toubkal in April. With this in mind, the hiking boots are getting a good airing again and we are starting to explore some more local routes just as we did this time last year. One issue with this is that I do like my loops. For some reason, I just hate doing there-and-back routes even though logic suggests you have a different view in each direction. As a result, we are often forced to make our way across heather bogs in search of a path that will take up back to our starting point.

After a bit of internet searching I was lucky enough to find a nice loop in the Manor Hills just south of Broughton. Leaving from the tiny hamlet of Drumelzier we made decent time on a good landrover track up to Pyketone Hill whereupon the low cloud dropped a little and left us without any view at the summit. Dropping down on to the Theives Road it started to clear, though there was little time to stop and take in our surroundings given the very cold breeze. We followed the fence line up to Long Grain Knowe and Middle Hill before dropping over Glenstivon Dod where we managed to find a little shelter from the wind long enough to have some hot juice and a sandwich. From there it was a simple walk up to Drumelzier Law and then we followed the ridge line all the way back to Finglen Rig and back to the valley.

A very pleasant walk out and a wee bit longer than we've been doing recently. The Theives Road looks like an interesting through route that I must look into a bit more.

In the cloud on Pykestone Rig

Poor Middle Hill doesn't even get a cairn!

A random cairn on the way to Glenstivon Dod

Dropping down for a bit of shelter - at least the sky was clearing

Another random cairn. Quartzite blocks very bright against the dark heather.

Mim about to "top" Drumelzier Hill

A better day than it was when we started - and all (mostly) downhill from here!

Border Patrol

I've been thinking about this one for a while. Last winter I did a couple of longer evening rides with a few mates, Carlisle to Edinburgh and Berwick to Edinburgh. That left me with part of the triangle to complete - the Coast to Coast. As it transpires, this is also a route I wanted to do as part of a longer term project. So, I looked at train timetables, selected a route and then waited. On a few occasions I'd dig out the plan but somehow it just never quite happened. Often it would be the weather but usually something else would pop up. With the clocks about to go back, I thought I'd better get the finger out and get on with it. Inevitably, the weather once again decided to play games with me. The first snow flurries of the winter arrived once I'd booked the hotel and train. 


Day 1
Undaunted, I was up early but really not feeling that great. Unrested, dodgy guts and a hoarse, dry throat weren't the ideal start to my day and it didn't get any better sitting on the train to Carlisle.

Leaving Carlisle station looked promising - lots of NCN stickers to follow. Unfortunately, they weren't followed up and I spent some time exploring a car park and various back streets. Eventually, I let the GPS guide me until I started to pick up the NCN7 signs again and they took me all the way to Gretna for the obligatory photo stop.

England on the left, Scotland on the right. That's irony.

This is the River Sark - the official border on the West coast and immortalized by Rabbie Burns in his song "Parcel o' Rogues".

Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands

And Tweed rins tae the ocean

Tae mark where Englands province stands

Sic' a parcel o' rogues in a nation

(I should point out, for the benefit of my English friends that they are not the rogues in this tale. That would be the Scottish gentry that sold our independence for money.)

Leaving Gretna took me to Gretna Green and the famous blacksmiths shop. In reality, I was more interested in the nearby cafe as I was, by now, gasping for my second coffee of the day. Little wonder when it was already after 11am.

Setting off again I was starting to get worried about the ride ahead of me. I was already behind schedule and I just couldn't get my riding funk on. In one way I was happy to reach Canonbie. This lovely wee town is placed just where the terrain changes from the gentle river flats to the hillier terrain we normally think of as the Borders and that was the issue. I knew that the riding was due to get a bit tougher. Is have been less concerned if the projected South-westerlies had put in an appearance instead of the bitter Northerly I was experiencing. Still, the scenery was lovely, it was dry and sunny and before too long my planned stop at Newcastleton was upon me.
There was already 3 cyclists in the cafe. Hardcore, older types with all the gear. I asked where they were heading, to which the reply was "home". Brilliant. They seemed impressed by my plans though.

I knew that there would be little chance of finding any more facilities for a while and hoped that necessity would push me on. The climb from here up to Wauchope would be the first real push of the day but it mostly went in OK. Passing the little car park at the top of the climb was an important little milestone of my trip. Up until now, all the river systems had been draining into the Irish Sea. Now, I was in the Tweed system, draining into the North Sea. This then is the Druim Alba - Scotlands Watershed. In theory, it's downhill all the way from here to Berwick. However, I knew that I had a couple of hurdles to navigate before I'd be there.

The first issue happened almost immediately. Here, on the north side of the hills, the sun hadn't got round to melting the overnight snow and I hit the first patch at some speed, trying not to panic and keep a nice gentle, curving line round the bend. I did take the precautionary measure of unclipping my feet ready for a bale-out but it proved to be unnecessary and I just took it a bit easy hitting blind spots.

Still freezing in the shade

The descent to near Bonchester Bridge was enjoyable, if a bit cold and, the climb to Carter Bar was a lot more gentle than the route adopted by the A68. I was, however, completely done in, struggling to keep it moving and watching the daylight slowly disappear. It was a feeling more of relief than pleasure that hit me when I eventually pulled in to the Border car park for another photo.

The literal high point.

My GPS told me it was now 17 miles to my hotel and, as it was already well after 4pm, I knew I would have to push on a bit to get in before dark. Fortunately, the first thing in front of me was the fast switchback descent of the A68. This took me quickly to the Hownam turn off for more little lanes away from the main road. On the way I passed over Dere Street - an ancient Roman Road and one of the very few off-road "roads" in Scotland.

This is certainly a very quiet corner of the world and as dusk descended I was keeping a count of how far it was to each farmhouse! Eventually, and after almost missing the last turn, I made it to Morebattle and the Templehall Hotel. I'd not quite needed my lights, but it was close.

Day 2
After not the best nights sleep, I awoke to see the extra hour of daylight passing by outside my window while I waited for breakfast. Obviously not as cold as yesterday had been, it was now quite damp with a light drizzle evident as I was prepping the bike for action. My first port-of-call was Kirk Yetholm which had been my original destination (had the Border Hotel not been fully booked). It's a really lovely little village and stands at the end of the Pennine Way, on the St Cuthberts Way and now also marks the start (or end?) of the Scottish National Trail too.

My self-imposed route now took me on a long, winding detour around this very pleasant little corner of Scotland, the game here being to run as close to the border as I could without crossing it or taking any u-turns. This meant I'd see signs for, e.g. Coldstream 8 miles, but I'd be heading away from them taking in extra lanes and side roads. The South Westerly that had been promised yesterday had now turned into more of a North Westerly which had me puffing a wee bit as I fought against it but once I reached Kelso and my first brush with the River Tweed, I had a fantastic blast all the way along to Coldstream. Here, the road crosses the Tweed again marking another important part of the border.

From Coldstream, I was back onto quieter roads with some beautiful old houses tucked away, large gates lodges and ornate gateways marking out some quite extensive grounds. In theory, I should have turned North after reaching Paxton but as Berwick-upon-Tweed sits astride the river where it meets the North Sea and gives its name to Scotlands most South Easterly county I thought it was only right to grant it honorary Scottish "citizenship" and grace it with my presence. It was quite a shock to suddenly see so many folk. It was still a damp day but the town was fairly heaving with both locals and tourists and I was lucky to get a seat in the Cafe Nero to enjoy a decent coffee and some hot food.


So far, I'd mostly had a relaxing comfortable ride and as I started North out of Berwick I was looking at my clock, pleased at my schedule. That didn't last long. The first problem was that my plan to follow the coastal path and avoid the A1 immediately came unstuck passing a large caravan park. The ground was rough and extremely muddy which had me slithering along. Progress at this rate would have me out another night. I therefore headed back onto the A1, taking advantage of a pavement all the way to Marshall Meadows. A quick enquiry to a local told me that the path here was even less likely to be ridable so it was back onto the A1 dual carriageway to the Border Viewpoint then off to cut through Lamberton. This left me with only 3 miles of so to get onto the Burnmouth exit towards Eyemouth. 

By now, I was beginning to feel quite tired. The headwind had picked up a little but I just didn't seem to be generating any power. This was worse when I exited Eyemouth towards Coldingham where the moor just seemed to be one long climb after another. I'd approach each bend sure that this was the last climb, only to see the road still rising in front of me. As I slowed, the daylight slowly leaked away and around 15:30 I opted to switch some lights on for safety. Eventually, I reached the top of the moor and could see a long downhill ahead of me but, more importantly, the coastline and various landmarks all the way to journeys end at Dunbar. 

I was so intent shooting down the hill, intent on making up some time, that I almost missed the GPS telling me I had a right turn to make. This was the junction for Pease Bay and as soon as I started down it, I was wishing I had actually missed the turn. Rather like one of those quaint Cornish coves, here the road dove steeply down to the sea. A ford at the bottom looked crossable but I opted for the safety of the footbridge before heading steeply back up to cliff-top level again. Cruel. 

Navigation from here couldn't have been simpler - just follow the NCN signs first along one side of the A1, then cross at Torness, then along the other side until a lane appears that takes you on a strange little detour round the back of the cement works. Of all the NCN routes I've been on, this surely has to count as one of the most bizarre!!  Finally and just as dusk was truly settling in, I made it to the railway station at Dunbar where the staff were happy to let me bring my bike into the waiting room, put my feet up and relax almost semi-unconscious until the train to Edinburgh arrived.

Like the windmills of your mind

A wee errand involving a drive through to South Glasgow saw me with a couple of hours to kill so I thought I'd head up to Eaglesham Moor for a closer look at the Whitelea Windfarm. I'd been thinking about this since sometime earlier this year when I saw that they were advertising 70km of trails suitable for mountain biking and walking. Even from the leaflet I could see that they were only really referring to the access roads used for all the windmills but I still thought it was worth checking out. 

Initial impressions were favourable. They've a lovely wee visitors centre with the usual array of coffee and snacks plus a wee shop. Showers and a bike lockup space were an unexpected bonus. They also have a hands-on "experience" area to show how the technology all works. I can see how the PR folk would love all this and there was a few school trips through while I fuelled up. It did take me back to a very similar experience I had when I was younger and we all trooped round the Dounreay Nuclear Power Station visitor centre. This time, I thought I'd avoid this bit and make my own mind "up close and personal" with the windfarm itself.

There is quite a bit of expansion work going on to the windfarm so I was told that some of the tracks (including the main spine road) were currently closed. This would severely limit how much of the windfarm I could actually get around but since I had limited time it wouldn't be an issue. The map I was given showed all the tracks and the numbers of all the towers. This meant that getting lost was next to impossible, which was handy as some of the tracks looped over the moors. 

Individually, I find the windmills quite elegant. On a mildly breezy day, their slow rotation has a somewhat soporific effect and I find it quite calming. Up close, indeed right underneath the blades, the noise was less than I'd expected. This comment was also made by some walkers I met at a viewpoint. From here, looking over the moor, I didn't find the windfarm at all jarring. If anything, I thought the array rather added to/complemented the ruggedness of the moors. From the same viewpoint, I could also see the Greater Glasgow conurbation, with the central belt sliding across towards Grangemouth and the windfarm at Climpy. 

In this setting then, it all made sense. Power-hungry customers, windy bleak moor, short transmission distance. Without going into all the finer details of the economics, if land-based windfarms are ever going to make sense, then this, surely, has to be one of the best examples. The fact that the owners are also going out of their way to promote public access can only be applauded and it's certainly worth a walk - or cycle - around for the great views out to Galloway, Arran, Argyll and the Highlands. On a clear, crisp winters day this would be a fine place to lose yourself for a few hours. 

So - if windfarms make sense here, where are they questionable? Well, I think there are still some places where they truly clash with the landscape. The occasional white tower on lower slopes of mountains can be overlooked by the tourists who flock to Scotland. Extensive farms intruding upon iconic views risk alienating these tourists and therefore the livelihood of many Scots. My current bugbears are; the Monadliath - visible from the Cairngorm National Park, Ben Wyvis - the view descending down the A9 towards Kessock is one which deserves to protected and the Loch Luichart extension - this will completely ruin the view west from the Black Isle into this rugged mountain landscape. Thankfully, people are waking up to the dangers of un-fettered expansion of land-based windfarms. Here's hoping it's not too late and we can yet maintain the correct balance.

By Klibreck and Altnaharra

Have you ever listened to the words of a song and had them so completely resonate within you that you think the song was written for you? I guess most of us will have heard some love song that reflected our feelings, but for me, there's another. It's a song about a book and the song tells of the feelings of the songwriter upon reading that book. The song and the book are both called The Summer Walkers. The book, by Timothy Neat, is about the hawkers, tinsmiths and other travelling workers who would gather themselves up each year and journey into Wester Ross and Sutherland. The song, by Runrig,  is so evocative that I bought the book and delved into it. Upon reading it, I found I was resurrecting old, long-buried memories of my own, of times when, as a child, I'd travel with my family through the highlands. I remembered we'd often see the travellers with their horses and carts on the narrow, single-track roads that were all that existed in the 1960's. My mum always called them the Tinkers. She'd look down her nose at them a bit - even though we weren't exactly what you'd call middle class. She'd call them "dirty" and make occasional references to them being somewhat less than trustworthy. 

Ironically, we were camping and travelling too and sometimes we'd spend a night or two at a quiet, unofficial campsite. My dad used to call some of these "common land". From reading The Summer Walkers I now realise that many of them were stances once used by the travelling people. The book highlights a lost culture. Although told mainly in the word of the travellers, the author had only the last remaining elderly folk to talk to and the practice has now disappeared with the customs and language almost completely lost. What we are left with today is the spectacle of "My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding", nothing more than a gross distortion of what was a fine tradition.


But this is a biking blog and you're thinking "get on with it!" So, here I was with a couple of days free and a plan to make the most of the remaining longer days. I figured this would be my last opportunity to get right up north so I'd planned a nice circular route which would also be my first "century" (100 mile) ride this year. From Lairg, I'd head up to the north coast, then back down. My choice of direction was largely dictated by the prevailing wind, being an easterly. I recalled riding along the north coast last year into this same easterly and how tiring it had been, For this reason, I'd do the loop anti-clockwise.

The ride started well. Away at 9am there was little traffic. The views out to the West were hidden behind a blanket of grey cloud but a little watery sunshine was splashing my shadow onto the tarmac. It's a fairly steady climb from Lairg until past the Crask Inn where the munro of Ben Klibreck appears and then another fairly steady descent to the Inn at Altnaharra. The crosswind was strong but not overly so, but I knew I was up against it a little when I turned due East alongside Loch Naver. At least the road made some semblance of melding into the landscape so I'd get an occasional calm spell. Turning North made it slightly easier again and when I saw the end of the loch, I knew that I was at least trending downhill now to the coast.

One thing to be very careful of up this way is the lack of facilities - don't be expecting to stop for a coffee every few miles - so just before reaching my turn West I loaded up with a little food. This was just as well. Although I now had the wind behind me, the road did that great coastal thing of just climbing and descending every few miles. It was with some relief that I realised I was just a few miles from Tongue, whereupon the first heavy rain of the day hit me. I guess I should have thought myself lucky. After all, I seemed to have missed all the showers thundering through, but getting drenched just before my planned lunch stop seemed so unfair.

The bar in the Tongue Hotel was warm and cosy, with a proper fire going and I was glad to get in for a hot drink and a warm meal. The chicken pasta was great - although the portion was fairly prodigious. However, I knew that the shorter days and my lack of big rides this year meant I really had to get back on the road. I did have a slightly shorter return option available by heading down past Loch Loyal but I figured I'd stick to the original plan and headed out for Hope. This was another big climb and the wind seemed to have turned more south easterly so it wasn't helping me as mush as I'd have liked. The steep descent into Hope killed off most of the climbing effort with little reward and I then turned south onto the little unclassified road along Loch Hope. 

I'd been along here a couple of times in the past, though never to this very end of the road. The last time was for the lovely annular eclipse of May 2003 when a few mates and I had climbed Ben Hope to get the best possible view of the already-eclipsed sun as it rose. 

Annular Eclipse - 31st May 2003

That day had also seen me do me second ascent of Ben Klibreck and I recall it felt a bit novel to be on my second munro of the day and it still be breakfast time. 

Now, I was heading against an increasingly strong headwind, weaving my way across the best bits of tarmac and avoiding the often grassy strip down the centre of the road. On the way, I passed the broch at Dun Dornaigil and took a couple of photos under the very curious gaze of one of the local cows. 

Dun Dornaigil and the cloud streaming off Ben Hope

A couple of miles - and quite a bit of climbing - further on is the track leading to Gobernuisgach Lodge. This track cuts right across country and is on my "to do" list for 2013. Turning east again, I battled my way back towards Altnaharra, to be confronted by another downpour just as I reached the Inn. Without any second bidding I was indoors and drinking another coffee for a bit of warmth, passing some time with the locals and some visiting anglers. By the sounds of it, my day had at least been more successful than theirs. 

All that remained was the last big climb up past Klibreck again and then the long, steady 13 mile downhill almost all the way to Lairg where I encouraged my legs to spin a bit faster to get my days average speed up a bit. 


A long, hard day then. the wind had turned against me and my legs seemed a bit surprised at the amount of effort. However, the route was fabulous with the Sutherland landscape in the very first throes of Autumn and the roads almost deserted. On the way round my 104 mile loop, I'd passed so many of the place names contained in the song The Summer Walkers, though the "long winding shores of Loch Maree" will have to wait for another day!

Sometimes when you journey

Through the pages of a book

You're taken places beyond words

You let them speak the truth

Today I've opened treasures

That my eyes could scarce believe

They're the words of confirmation

Everything that makes me sing

Summer comes to Sutherland

And you bend the hazel bow

You harness up the ponies

And you head out on the road

By Kilbreck and Altnaharra

You journey to your rest

With the guiding might of Suliven

For the campsites of the West

And it's up by the Shin

And up by the 'Naver

And the long winding shores

Of Loch Maree

By Ben Hope and Ben Loyal

By Stack and by Arkle

The road reaches far

Now the summer is here

Now your words are not of sentiment

Shallow or untrue

But wells of living water

And from their clear deep sides we drew

The songs, the tin, the horses

This country's great and ancient wilds

Your faith in God and man and nature

And the keenness of your guile

So have you stood out on Coldbackie

At the time the sun goes down

Or up on the king of campsites

In the hills about Brae Tongue

That's when music filled your evenings

It's all so different now, this world

For you were the summer walkers

And the fishers of the pearl.

So as we close another chapter

That we label Archive Gold

Still the Conon flows each morning

And the dew falls from the sloe

But today you took me walking

Through a land that we have lost

While our children sit at websites

With no access to the cost

And it's up by the Shin

And up by the 'Naver

And the long winding shores

Of Loch Maree

By Ben Hope and Ben Loyal

By Stack and by Arkle

The road reaches far

Now the summer is here

A Change of Pace

With the shoulder injury slowly healing, I've been gradually weaning myself back on to off-road riding. Starting with smoother trails - and on the fatbike - I had worked up to some rougher stuff in the Pentlands and then took the Santa Cruz Blur out for a spin. Everything seemed to be fine, so I'd decided I'd pop down to Glentress today for a change of scenery. 

I got up, got packed and organised and then sort of stalled. No matter what I did, I just couldn't get that final bit of impetus to get me out of the door. Another cup of coffee and a brief glance out the window confirmed that the weather was still pretty much perfect and, eventually, I could think of no reason not to head off. And then things got a bit weird....

As I was driving down the A703, I realised that I was actually quite nervous and anxious. This took me aback somewhat. After all, I was only heading down to ride a bike. Then I thought about it a bit more and tried to work out what was going on. 

I recalled that my last visit to a trail centre had been Laggan, months ago. I'd not really enjoyed it. My riding was all over the place and the bike felt all strange. The latter, I discovered, was due to a snapped pivot bolt. So, maybe I was a bit nervous about having a similar experience? Then it hit me. At a trail centre, the riding is really all about getting down the hill quickly. The man-made obstacles are designed to stretch and challenge you and, even without the pressure of following riders, you can't really just bimble along - yet that's what I'd mostly been doing recently. 

There's nothing much wrong with bimbling. Attention can be focussed internally - on one's own feelings and thoughts - or you have time to take in your surroundings. Either way, the riding is very much a secondary activity. Now, I was about to change all of that and I guess I wasn't sure what to expect.

As it turned out, everything was just fine. I managed another short delay at the Peel Cafe, grabbing a roll and coffee, but once I was under way I just settled into the different vibe that the trail centre provides. The handling issues I'd experienced at Laggan had all gone and I felt I was actually hitting some of the rougher stuff as well as I ever had (I'll never be quick). When I did reach the car park again, I was both energised and relieved. I just need to make sure I don't leave it as long before my next visit.