D
David Martin
Guest
The lab was going on retreat for the weekend to a nice hotel not so
very far away. With a not too early start on the
Friday, and all Sunday afternoon to get home, I thought it would be the
perfect
opportunity to get a bit of a ride in. At a shade over 40 miles it
shouldn't take too long either..
I had persuaded a fellow cyclist from my group to come with me so on a
blustery morning at dawn we set off. With just over 3 hours to go, it
looked a dead cert for arrival in time for a coffee and a shower
before the meeting began.
The rain appeared to have gone and blue sky was visible over Perth as
we rolled out into the Carse of Gowrie, a flat first part of the ride. The
one problam with
flat rides is there is nothing to stop the wind. 65km to go and only
maintaining a 22km/h speed was not ideal when we had some hills
ahead. Time to push a bit. And so we
did, bit and bit and the speed holding nearer to 30km/h. Through
Errol, out to St Madoes and then up Glen Carse. The roads were traffic
free, though we could clearly hear the noise and see commuter traffic
building up on
the A90 to the north.
No cars but plenty of weather. The rain clouds that had been hiding over the
hills to the north,
came south and deposited a fair quantity of horizontal rain into our
faces. On went the waterproof jackets.
The third member of our duet was the puncture fairy. Normally she
stays well away from me, but that morning paid me a visit. PSSS SS SS
SS. I could see the bubbles spraying out through the water on the tyre. A
quick stop, and I swapped the tube for a spare. Cheers to the chap on
the Cannondale who stopped to see if I was OK.
The next part was uphill. A deceptively gentle climb, then turn right
and go up. The road sign claimed 20% but that can only
have been for a few metres. Lungs burned as we crested Kinnoul hill
and pushed on towards Perth, hoping for a nice fast descent on the
downhill into the town. With the wind being a definite againsterly we were
having to pedal
to get much over 30km/h on a hill one would normally freewheel at
nearer 50km/h or higher. Not so nice.
By now we have hit the commuter traffic in Perth. Not literally, that
comes later. Route finding was easy, traffic was fairly heavy, enough
to slow the motors down to a pace where interaction was not a problem,
and we head out towards Crieff on the A85.
What is it about bright yellow jackets that renders them
invisible? A solid queue of traffic was heading into Perth and a young
lad in a typical chavmobile decided to turn right across us. I was
just giving voice to my displeasure when his mate behind decided to
follow suit. It is the first time since I was a child that I have
lifted the rear wheen when braking. With barely the width of my front
tyre between us I came to a halt and half jumped, half fell off the
bike (SPD's do unclip quite happily).
Needless to say the young gentleman received some pointed advice on
his powers of observation and driving ability. Responding to his
'SMIDSY' by pointing out the bright yellow jackets and not
inconsiderable bulk of his near victims, we detained him sufficiently
that other drivers started to get angry with him being in the middle
of the road, before allowing him to proceed. The adrenalin build up
was soon burnt off by the rest of the rise to the A9.
The time was against us. Just under 30k to go in just over an hour. In
normal circumstances this wouldn't be too hard, but with the wind
against us and long, gentle uphills it was going to be a struggle. The
coach carrying our colleagues passed us just before we left the A85
for the minor road through Tibbermore and we put the hammer down. Legs
were starting to really feel the strain as we pushed, pushed, pushed
on. The road signs started to give us hope. 12 miles, 10 miles 8
miles. On we pushed, up and down the rolling road with intermittent
flurries of hail. This was close to zombie mode, just put your head
down and push till it hurts then push some more.
Finally 4 miles and 25 minutes till the meeting starts. No
problem, or so we thought.
And then we both hit the wall. There comes a time when your legs just
refuse to go on. Under normal circumstances one would ease up and take
a rest, then carry on when ready. We didn't have that luxury, having
to keep pushing our tired aching limbs. Those
last four miles took all bar one of those 25 minutes.
And we rolled in to the hotel, registered and they even brought us a
pot of coffee. A few pints of leg restorer in the evening went down a
treat though I'm not convinced the Ceilidh was a good idea. However,
the exertions of the day have ensured that the following morning all the
downstairs hurt.
The return journey will follow..
very far away. With a not too early start on the
Friday, and all Sunday afternoon to get home, I thought it would be the
perfect
opportunity to get a bit of a ride in. At a shade over 40 miles it
shouldn't take too long either..
I had persuaded a fellow cyclist from my group to come with me so on a
blustery morning at dawn we set off. With just over 3 hours to go, it
looked a dead cert for arrival in time for a coffee and a shower
before the meeting began.
The rain appeared to have gone and blue sky was visible over Perth as
we rolled out into the Carse of Gowrie, a flat first part of the ride. The
one problam with
flat rides is there is nothing to stop the wind. 65km to go and only
maintaining a 22km/h speed was not ideal when we had some hills
ahead. Time to push a bit. And so we
did, bit and bit and the speed holding nearer to 30km/h. Through
Errol, out to St Madoes and then up Glen Carse. The roads were traffic
free, though we could clearly hear the noise and see commuter traffic
building up on
the A90 to the north.
No cars but plenty of weather. The rain clouds that had been hiding over the
hills to the north,
came south and deposited a fair quantity of horizontal rain into our
faces. On went the waterproof jackets.
The third member of our duet was the puncture fairy. Normally she
stays well away from me, but that morning paid me a visit. PSSS SS SS
SS. I could see the bubbles spraying out through the water on the tyre. A
quick stop, and I swapped the tube for a spare. Cheers to the chap on
the Cannondale who stopped to see if I was OK.
The next part was uphill. A deceptively gentle climb, then turn right
and go up. The road sign claimed 20% but that can only
have been for a few metres. Lungs burned as we crested Kinnoul hill
and pushed on towards Perth, hoping for a nice fast descent on the
downhill into the town. With the wind being a definite againsterly we were
having to pedal
to get much over 30km/h on a hill one would normally freewheel at
nearer 50km/h or higher. Not so nice.
By now we have hit the commuter traffic in Perth. Not literally, that
comes later. Route finding was easy, traffic was fairly heavy, enough
to slow the motors down to a pace where interaction was not a problem,
and we head out towards Crieff on the A85.
What is it about bright yellow jackets that renders them
invisible? A solid queue of traffic was heading into Perth and a young
lad in a typical chavmobile decided to turn right across us. I was
just giving voice to my displeasure when his mate behind decided to
follow suit. It is the first time since I was a child that I have
lifted the rear wheen when braking. With barely the width of my front
tyre between us I came to a halt and half jumped, half fell off the
bike (SPD's do unclip quite happily).
Needless to say the young gentleman received some pointed advice on
his powers of observation and driving ability. Responding to his
'SMIDSY' by pointing out the bright yellow jackets and not
inconsiderable bulk of his near victims, we detained him sufficiently
that other drivers started to get angry with him being in the middle
of the road, before allowing him to proceed. The adrenalin build up
was soon burnt off by the rest of the rise to the A9.
The time was against us. Just under 30k to go in just over an hour. In
normal circumstances this wouldn't be too hard, but with the wind
against us and long, gentle uphills it was going to be a struggle. The
coach carrying our colleagues passed us just before we left the A85
for the minor road through Tibbermore and we put the hammer down. Legs
were starting to really feel the strain as we pushed, pushed, pushed
on. The road signs started to give us hope. 12 miles, 10 miles 8
miles. On we pushed, up and down the rolling road with intermittent
flurries of hail. This was close to zombie mode, just put your head
down and push till it hurts then push some more.
Finally 4 miles and 25 minutes till the meeting starts. No
problem, or so we thought.
And then we both hit the wall. There comes a time when your legs just
refuse to go on. Under normal circumstances one would ease up and take
a rest, then carry on when ready. We didn't have that luxury, having
to keep pushing our tired aching limbs. Those
last four miles took all bar one of those 25 minutes.
And we rolled in to the hotel, registered and they even brought us a
pot of coffee. A few pints of leg restorer in the evening went down a
treat though I'm not convinced the Ceilidh was a good idea. However,
the exertions of the day have ensured that the following morning all the
downstairs hurt.
The return journey will follow..
