A While

July 29, 2013

Step out of the house in a short-sleeved top and shorts and feel warm straight away – you enjoy that when you get it in North-East Scotland. This is going to be a good ride, wherever I go, whatever form  I have, whatever the distance. There will be no pictures, because I can’t find the battery charger for my camera. There’ll be no statistics, either, because I haven’t had a computer on my bike for three years. First-world problems, This is supposed to be about saying “f**k it” and going out anyway, because that’s what you do when you’re a cyclist, you ride your bike. Doesn’t matter if the bike doesn’t work as you’d like, doesn’t matter if you can’t get things perfect, the day, at least, is a beautiful one and that ought to make up for quite a bit.


Local knowledge and reading the distances on roadsigns suggest I did about 65-70 miles. Once out of town, I barely saw traffic, even on the bigger roads. The back roads are the best, though, winding through the greenery, purple foxgloves everywhere, views all the way to the horizon.

I went through Tough. As mention in an earlier post, you don’t pronounce the name of this village the way you spell it, but it never fails to amuse me nonetheless. The village school, especially, cannot fail to be a difficult place to spend one’s formative years. Along the road to there is the Muggertaugh Hotel, once described by a riding companion from Inverurie as “that place no-one can say the name of”. Answers in a comment, please.

Sun, wind, shade, green, blue, more wind, more sun, more road, pedalling. Always trying to hold something back, to make sure you have the reserves of energy to finish the ride. This is what being “out of shape” feels like. And yet nothing diminishes the sheer joy of a road bike and a road, the one made for the other. A few hours of solitude with this; it’s not much to ask, is it?


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