Randonnées we were supposed to go but, having researched the route on Ordnance Survey maps, I found the way out to the A92 where Martin and his GPS took over. It was warming up and so we took off our rain gear. Soon Martin and Bob were taking long turns on the front through the thick mist. Each time we went up hill it seemed just a little bit harder to hang on, especially given the brisk wind. However, as we turned toward Forfar, having got to a group view on which crossroads was the one referred to in the route sheet (it said SOX but we had right of way the whole way), the wind was behind us and we were going down hill. Andreas, as if powered by sail, shot off and I vaguely followed him. It was time to have a break.
further on I began to feel quite peculiar; I’d left another bit of my essence on the road. I would have to be careful or I would start to get tired with no pick-me-up possible.
They were excited to see us at the control, their first customers. The soup was excellent. I don’t usually have soup as it seems to fill me up without giving me much energy, but I liked it so much I had a second bowl and a cheese scone to top up the bread that came with the soup. It had been a good first stage.
This feeling did not last long. On the second or third imperceptible rise out of Banchory I could sense Flat Earth Bob pushing on again. My chain was squeaking; the frequent immersions in floodwater had stripped it of most of its lubricant. This was not a pleasant experience. I had a choice. On each little rise I could take another little 1% out of my reserves and hang on, secure in the company of the group, recognising that this would get me round the quickest. But there would be a lot of little one percents on the long valley road to Braemar, and they would soon add up. So I let the gap open up and proceeded at my own pace. Once they had disappeared the squeaking chain annoyed me so I used this as an excuse to properly separate myself from the front group. I also had a quick comfort break and a snack.
The road to Brechin was hard. It rose up ever so slightly for about 6k into the wind. I towed everyone along and probably put a bit too much into it. Before Brechin I found myself on the front again, with legs that felt ever so slightly heavy. There was a debate about a turn in Brechin (I misheard Craft Street for Market Street) and so I had to chase back on, a little reluctant. I felt that I would want to drop back from this group at some point but hoped that it would be Cairn O’Mount and not before. We had made a good start on our minor Scottish football teams. Given the blankness of the sky Forfar Athletic nil Brechin City nil sounded about right. We would also pass Alloa, Dunfermline Athletic, and Cowdenbeath, names remembered from watching Final Score on Grandstand in the days when there was sport on the BBC. We wondered what Forfar was famous for. I never knew that Brechin had a cathedral. Here in northeast Scotland were places that had a grander impact on history than their current presence would suggest. My observation that Dundee was a city built, in part, on making jam because of the soft fruit production in the area was not obvious given the cold grey skies. Perhaps the cold and the grey got into my head. Bob Johnson is known as Flat Earth Bob for a reason, all hills are flat to him. In this mostly flat terrain, whenever there was a slight rise he would kick on to maintain his momentum, an excellent technique. But each micro-kick took me out of my comfort zone and left another little piece of my soul on the road. It could not last. Before I blew I allowed myself not to get back on his wheel. It had been good while it lasted but now that we approached some proper hills I wanted to ride my own pace. When I’m dropped (and I think this applies to most of us) my heart sinks; I begin to question my legs, my heart, or my head. Instead of realising that there are three riders ahead of me and sixty-five behind, I tend to look at the group of three above and wonder if I should put the extra effort in to close that gap. But we were 130km into 1016km. To go deep into the red this early was simply foolishness. So I put the bad thoughts out of my head and began to concentrate on a rhythm, one gear lower than with the group. We were still in the arable farmland typical of the east coast, with plenty of trees so that soon they were gone from view. I worked my way through Fettercairn and into the hills looking for the start of the Cairn O’Mount. It announced its presence with a steep ramp that hardly eased off. I could see the others split up further up the hill. I concentrated on my own sweaty process, opening up my top to see if I could get some air. The climb was supposed to ease off but I did not see any advantage in getting out of the little ring. I could see Andreas ahead of me and was closing on him very slowly. The second steep ramp was hidden in the mist. Andreas, on a compact chainset, ground to a halt. I continued onwards, not knowing what to say, being a firm believer in a triple for such things. I was cranking out low revs even with a 30-23 gear but just had enough to get to the top. A little
Arrivée November 2012
There was an initial high-speed descent but then we got into the forest. After each drop there was a short, steep, rhythmbusting, rise. I kept expecting Andreas to catch up with me but, after a struggle, I was into the warm forested slopes around Banchory. Bob and Martin waved to me and pointed out the Co-op they had used as a commercial control. Lunch was a prawn sandwich, salt and vinegar crisps, and a chocolate fudge brownie milkshake, of all of which was just what I was looking for and I felt able to hold their wheels again.
‘Given the blankness of the sky Forfar Athletic nil Brechin City nil sounded about right....’
There was a tailwind on this section and I started to get into a good rhythm, probably not as fast as those ahead of me but still a decent pace. It was too far to calculate a precise finishing time but I felt that I was good for a finish around about 11pm. The route sheet from Banchory to Braemar had only one instruction, “follow A93”, but 65km is too far to digest so I broke it up into 4 sections: Aboyne, Ballater, Balmoral, and Braemar. By the time I got to Aboyne I was going well. (I remembered Aboyne as the place that sometimes appears as the warmest place in the UK as it is the most sheltered from southwesterly winds; today there was a gentle easterly and it was quite pleasant). Then the rear tyre felt a bit spongy. I tried to convince myself that it was my imagination but after another mile it was clear there was a problem. Just when I had got my head in order. I hooked the saddle on a stone wall and carried out the tedious task of repair, concerned that I could find no obvious damage to the tyre or remains of a shard in the tyre wall. It’s always much more comforting to find the culprit rather than suspect that it might still be lurking to claim another tube on an appropriate impact. Zigzag passed me and asked if I was alright. I was just pumping up the tyre so I called out “two minutes”. He carried on but he was only looking for a place to fill up a water bottle. I caught him up and we rode on together. I like Zigzag. He was the one who persuaded me than the forum was a good idea (and so probably the one to whom I owed the pleasure of this ride). He is also good company and rides at a slightly easier pace than Flat Earth Bob. I’d noticed on the route sheet that there was a possible short cut past Ballater and so was not surprised when Zigzag took that route. The road climb through thick coniferous woods into a forbidding defile but did very little extra climbing so almost certainly saved us some effort. There wasn’t much wind by now, and a lot of this area is now home to recovering Caledonian forest, giving the route a lot of shelter, but it was still nice to have it helping rather than hindering. Things were looking up and we got into a good rhythm. I pointed out Balmoral to Zigzag, who hails from Lithuania although I believe lives in the London area. It was 5pm by the time we arrived in Braemar. There was a rather dodgy looking café almost on the road junction, offering pretty much every version of junk food known to mankind (it offered fish and chips, pizza, burgers, and curries). For a moment I hesitated but didn’t have the wherewithal to think about somewhere else. I asked for pizza 15