You can keep your green list countries and your vaccination passports … if there’s anything I’m excited about as lockdown eases, it’s the return of village plant sales
Nearest village has gone all out this year, after having to cancel last year, and although I was held up and couldn’t make it until it was almost over (and it turns out there’s nothing like the fear of being gazumped at the plant stall to give you wings for the climb up to Nearest Village), fortunately there were still plants (and, importantly, cakes) to be had.
With these events I’m limited only by the capacity of my bike basket and the ability of any purchases to withstand a few miles of bumpy roads. This is probably fortunate, given I’m still not caught up with the gardening (and the work I’d hoped was over has returned for a final hurrah).
Since I’ve finished my work deadline (and also got my big bike adventure out of the way) there has finally been time for that most restorative of activities: pottering.
Or specifically, in my case – potting, because a local housing support service was looking for plants and were delighted to find homes for nine of my spider plant babies.*
Obviously, this hasn’t made even the slightest dent in the spider plant jungle (we acknowledge that this is their bathroom now, we are just allowed to use it) but it did enable me to trial my double-decker plant carrying solution which should stand me in good stead just as the plant sale season is getting into swing.
Today meant a slightly longer adventure: I had a dental appointment in Notso Bigtown which is about 19 miles away and normally we’d drive. But the car is currently in the garage so there was nothing for it but to cycle. I’ve done this before, indeed twice, but I note looking back that on both occasions it was glorious weather whereas today’s weather was of the kind where the forecast insists it isn’t raining and isn’t going to rain, while the actual weather coming out of the sky begs to differ. So it’s entirely likely that had the car been available I would have taken that option but it’s amazing how much easier it is to choose the virtuous (indeed, mildly epic) option when you don’t actually have a choice.
Anyway, after (nearly) 100 miles what are 38 miles between friends? And in the end the rain stopped and it was fine, and I even impressed the dental hygienist, which has never happened before.
And because I had time, I could even take a detour to visit an old friend:
And make a new one.
* I feel I should add for absolute clarity, because this is the internet, that their service is about supporting people who need housing, not houseplants, but that they are using gardening as part of how they support people and were happy to branch out into indoor gardening as well.
Those of you who follow me on Twitter will know that I went on a bit of an adventure on Friday
It’s been an itch of mine for a while to try some longer rides, and the fact that my parents’ house is almost exactly 100 miles away (at least, as the bike rides) has been niggling away in my brain. Riding a hundred miles by bike is a strange sort of feat in a way – many, if not most, people I know would consider it to be a ridiculous proposition, and yet I also know plenty of people for whom a 100 mile ride is a mere warm up, something to get the legs going before taking on a proper challenge like crossing a continent. But it seemed to me like a nice round number (more on this later) and eminently doable, while still being impressive enough to feel quite pleased with myself if and when I completed it.
Up until now, my approach to going for longer rides than I’m used to has been: 1) get on the bike; and 2) keep pedalling until I got there, which has served me well enough up to about 50 miles. However, trying to double that felt like a bit of a stretch so I’ve been asking around for advice from people who do this sort of thing regularly and actually putting most of it into practice, not just in the training beforehand (oh, OK, I never did get around to doing intervals…) but on the ride itself, and actually it all proved invaluable.
So for anyone who’s intrigued by the idea of riding longer distances but doesn’t quite know if they’ll be able to, here are the top tips I received, and how it panned out on the day.
I knew that if I was to get to my parents at a reasonable hour, I had to start at silly o’clock and I can honestly say that getting up at 4:30am was the hardest part of the whole adventure. But my experienced cycle touring pals all agreed that the trick to getting a lot of miles under your belt was to set off at the crack of dawn and get as far as you could before taking your first well deserved break. I knew my brain doesn’t really work that well in the small hours so I’d taken the precaution of writing a checklist the night before to make sure nothing got forgotten which mostly worked out, although when it came to planning my lunch it turned out that I should have been a bit more specific than just ‘sandwich’
Catering hiccups aside, I was out of the door by ten past five, sharing the first stretch of road with nobody but a badger strolling along the verge, and it really was worth the wrench of getting up that early. The roads were blissfully quiet and the air was still (a bonus as the wind was in my face for most of the ride from about 8am onwards) and it was one of those glorious summer mornings with the light gilding everything it touched. Apart from the odd dopey dog and oblivious dog walker on the cycle path, I didn’t have to deal with any traffic, and for the first 20 odd miles I knew the route pretty well so I could mostly concentrate on just pedalling and making good progress with the birds all singing their little feathery heads off in the hedgerows beside me.
I wasn’t aiming for any really super speedy time, but I had been a bit … vague with my parents about my plans, in that they knew we were coming but I hadn’t actually mentioned I was planning to cycle there as I didn’t want them worrying. So I wanted to get to Duns reasonably close to our normal arrival time. I knew I was never going to be a fast cyclist, but as I started preparing for this ride a lot of people had told me that the key was not so much to ride fast but to stop as little as possible and I had been surprised at how much difference it made to my overall speed. I’m a terrible faffer as a rule, but after a couple of stops to check in with the family WhatsApp group, text the other half reassuring him that I was still alive, and send some tweets to anyone interested in following along, I then just put my head down and cracked on. I knew that the big climb would start about 33 miles in and top out almost 10 miles and over 750 feet later and, as the hills loomed up ahead of me, I promised myself a cup of coffee and a break at the top if I just kept going until the ascent was out of the way.
I was pretty pleased to make it the whole way without getting off and pushing, although I was grateful to have the road to myself (apart from the sheep) so I could make all the faces I needed to to get over the last little kick upwards at the top. At this point I was feeling pretty good – it was only 9:30, I’d got the worst of the climbing out of the way (or at least, so I thought) and my legs were holding up fine. I almost had to force myself to stop, having got into the rhythm of just pedalling ever onwards. But I knew it was time to take a break, update Twitter, take a celebratory selfie and refuel with coffee and a sustaining oatcake with peanut butter (having ridden the first 40 miles sustained by a bowl of Alpen before setting off and a couple of jelly babies) and start the descent to my next destination – the cafe and (more importantly) the toilets at St Mary’s Loch…
Manage the inputs (and the outputs)
If there’s one cliché about long distance anythings, it’s that it’s as much about the eating and drinking as the cycling or running or what have you. I had planned my food strategy carefully – my route took me past very few cafes (the St Mary’s Loch one cannot be relied upon to be open in my experience), or even shops, so I carried most of what I consumed on the ride: a packet of jelly babies (everyone agrees you need to have jelly babies; I don’t know if other sweets would do but I wasn’t prepared to risk it, so jelly babies it was), two emergency pork pies (nobody says pork pies, but as far as I am concerned, the whole point of massive bike rides is to earn the chance to have a guilt free pork pie), oatcakes, a full flask of coffee and two water bottles (which turned out to be two water bottles too few – I should have been better at refilling on the way). With that plus the all-important cake as I headed into Selkirk, I never really felt as if I was running on empty.
What people put less emphasis on is the fact that what goes in must also (partially) come out and I knew that the countryside I would be riding through wasn’t overly endowed with handy bushes. Perhaps other people are made of sterner stuff but I have never found it that easy to pee in anything but private and even if there aren’t any other humans around, the disapproving gaze of a sheep can be equally disconcerting. Most of the public toilets I would pass in the Borders were shut due to the pandemic, so let us all pause in appreciation for a moment for the efforts of the cleaner who has kept the St Mary’s Loch toilets open throughout.
With that important business done, it was time to enjoy the (mostly) downhill run to Selkirk with no navigation to worry about, not too much traffic, the sun-warmed gorse sending blasts of coconut scent as I passed, just me and the bike and the road unspooling endlessly ahead.
It’s a mind game
One thing I was a bit worried about when planning this ride was doing the distance on my own – I knew that the miles just disappear when I’m in good company and can chat as I go, but I wasn’t sure how it would be with just me. However, while I didn’t get into the sort of meditative zen state that some have described experiencing on longer solo rides, I did find I was perfectly happy in my own company. I have a busy brain as a whole, and what with snatches of earworms, thinking about the route ahead, composing this blog post, and trying to come up with the best way of describing the appalling cyclist-repelling surface that the Borders Council had decided to lay on their main roads (some combination of not enough tarmac and overly large stones that had the bike vibrating like a jackhammer on the descents) I was perfectly entertained. I had done enough route preparation to know how many miles to the next stop, and that really helped me to keep pushing on, ticking down the miles towards Selkirk where I’d planned to stop for lunch. Despite a freshening headwind (there’s never a westerly when you want one) if I kept turning the pedals, then the miles kept ticking away and I made good enough time that I was eating my lunch before noon, and able to stop at the Waterwheel Cafe for a cake afterwards (and another strategic wee) with my legs now starting to feel the effort of the ride but willing enough to keep going after I’d had a break.
Know your route
Once out of Selkirk, things got a little more complicated. Selkirk to Melrose was lovely – an off road path the whole way and then another road closed off to cars that took me over the Tweed on an ancient bridge dwarfed by the adjacent trunk road. From there, I was in completely unknown territory. I’ve not cycled much in the Borders and only knew the roads we took by car, which I didn’t fancy much on the bike. Also, all roads seem to lead to Kelso, so if you don’t want to go to Kelso, then there’s a lot of navigating to be done to avoid it. I had spent a lot of time the evening before working out a route that seemed to offer the best combination of avoiding main roads and avoiding Kelso while still being easy enough to navigate on the road without too many stops to check my route. At the very last minute, I discovered the ‘Borders Loop’ which promised a cycle route from Melrose to Duns but crucially it wasn’t clear if it was signposted on the road or not. I did have a quick look at the route online, and it seemed a bit longer than my preferred option, so after pondering mildly why it wasn’t taking the route I’d chosen, I decided I’d stick with what I’d planned. I had my trusty OS maps which are my preferred navigation method so although it would mean a bit of stopping and starting, I was confident I’d find my way.
Anyway, as it turns out, Borders back roads are very different from those I’m used to round us. Our roads tend to follow the river valleys and while they go up and down a fair bit, they usually go round the worst of the hills if they can be avoided. Borders roads, not so much: they seem to take more of a direct approach, except when they make a dramatic 90 degree turn, and contours be damned. This didn’t show up very clearly when I was route planning, because the climb over the pass before St Mary’s Loch had dwarfed the contours of the shorter, but much steeper, climbs in the Borders. As I pedalled round a corner and confronted the sight of the road shooting up apparently vertically, I realised that the last 20 miles were going to be tougher than I’d expected. I noticed a ‘Border loop’ sign enticingly pointing me downhill at one point as I plodded up another wall of a climb and briefly contemplated putting my navigational fate in the hands of the Borders council signposting department and just following it, but I decided against. The end was in sight. How hard could it be?
When you read various accounts of long distance rides, the failure of whichever electronic gizmo was being used to navigate at the crucial moment does tend to loom large, so I wasn’t surprised when my GPS battery died on me with 15 miles to go. No matter, I thought, as I turned a corner and contemplated yet another vertical wall of road. I wasn’t even using it to navigate. I had my map and so far I was on course, even if the course I’d chosen, and was doggedly sticking to, was going up every single sodding hill. My main worry was that both my water bottles were empty, and Greenlaw (where I knew there was a shop, the brilliantly named Blackadder Mini Market) seemed like a long way off. I stopped at a likely field gate half way up another hill and chugged the rest of my flask of coffee, only slightly put off by the slurry spreading tractor squeezing past me into the field. One last ridiculous climb up (in retrospect, going via Hume Castle was always going to involve a bit of a climb) one swooping descent into Greenlaw to raid the shop for any form of liquid (with the England – Scotland match on in the evening I was pretty much the only customer who wasn’t coming in for a case of beer), and I settled on a nearby bench to check my route for the final 10 mile stretch to Duns.
Maps, famously, can’t run out of battery and they never lose signal. But it turns out that if you awkwardly stuff them in the top of your pannier after checking for the 17th time that yes, you do need to go up that hill, then they can fall out onto the road without you noticing. The quiet backroads route I’d planned wasn’t going to be an option given my appalling sense of direction (I have even managed to get lost in the grid of Manhattan). My only choice was to take the main road from Greenlaw to Duns which I knew well from our many drives over. And yes, it meant one last hill out of Greenlaw, the steepest of all, which I’m not ashamed to say I walked up because the alternative was weaving all over the road. It also meant that my final distance (according to my route planner, given the death of the GPS) was about 97 miles, rather than the nice round hundred I’d aimed for. But as I staggered down the steps to my parents’ front door, I decided that was good enough. I’d achieved what I’d set out to do, and I hadn’t died. A proper century could wait another day.
And so I’ve done it – my longest ride ever, and an itch scratched. But as everyone knows, scratching an itch only makes it worse. Over the last few months as I’ve ridden more miles and found out what I’m capable of, I’m finding that my horizons are expanding. If you’ve ridden a hundred miles (well, within a rounding error of a hundred miles) then you’re only 25 miles or so away from 200 kms. And if I can ride from my house to Duns, then where else might my legs be able to take me?
At the moment, I don’t know (and I’ve promised my mum that if we visit again, I’ll stick to the car). But I’m interested in possibly finding out …
It’s hard to believe but I have finally found myself out the other side of the enormous pile of work I’ve been buried under for the last three months, and I’ve actually arranged with myself to take the next few weeks off (so apologies now if anyone was hoping for a fine summer …).
There’s now basically a three month backlog of gardening to get through, which I made a start on today. Step one was going to be turning all the compost in the compost daleks and emptying one so that I can fill them again but this was scuppered when I lifted up the bin that was ready to be emptied and discovered a tiny pink baby mouse snuggled up in what had been a cosy den up until that point. I’m generally fairly ruthless about mice but this one was looked too helpless and naked to survive eviction, so I hastily (but carefully) put the bin back down over the compost and had to make do with turning the others. I wonder how long it takes baby mice to grow up?
Anyway, there has been gardening done and there will be time to do more, and hopefully there will a few more interesting things to blog about to boot. Starting with a bit of a bike-related adventure…
One of the great pleasures of living up here is taking visiting cyclists out on some of my favourite routes and watching them register that yes, we really do have miles and miles of (mostly well connected) all but deserted single track roads where the greatest hazards are the potholes (which are, admittedly, formidable*) and the ever lurking prospect of ASBO Buzzard.
If all had gone to plan (shaping up to be the motto of the 2020s I fear) I would have had three separate sets of visitors to introduce to the delights of Bigtownshire cycling but two have had to cancel on me at short notice. It doesn’t matter how last minute the plans – this weekend’s planned visit was only floated on the Monday and had to be cancelled on Wednesday, giving me a bare 48 hours of happy planning and anticipation of a day of cycling related chat.
Fortunately, I have a local pal who is always up for a ride of pretty much any length and who leads if anything a more secluded life than I do, so can usually be relied upon for last minute shenanigans. Last night, with miles still needed in my legs, we headed off for an evening ride on a route that turned out to be a fairly epic 54 miles (on top of 17 miles earlier in the day on a combined trip for the paper with dropping off a pannier full of books for the church sale**). It wasn’t the most pleasant evening weather wise but, once we’d resigned ourselves to the fact that we’d mostly be riding inside the low hanging cloud that had gathered over the region, it was entirely pleasant in every other way. Most of the back roads are quiet all the time anyway, but once you get past about 8pm, then it turns out that pretty much all the traffic disappears completely. As we bowled along, side by side chatting about Eddington numbers and house purchases and farming jokes and other miscellaneous matters we realised that we couldn’t actually remember when we’d last encountered a car.
After an emergency rehydration pitstop at the pub in Papershop Village (top tip for long cycle rides: a full bidon of water doesn’t do you much good if it’s still sitting on the table in your hallway where you left it while packing up your bike) we even found ourselves riding two abreast down Big A Road for the length of the village, although we did revert to the back road for the final stretch home. And then, once we’d parted company in Old Nearest Village, it was just me and the gathering dusk, a barn owl ghosting along to my left for the final stretch, and the densest cloud of insects I have ever ridden through (it’s always interesting what you have to pick out of your cleavage after these sort of summer rides).
My legs are now aching a little (lesson learned about proper hydration), but I’m glad I did the distance despite the unpromising weather. I’m also somewhat resigned to the fact that even if my best laid plans continue to gang agley, the roads will still be here and there will be other weekends and even other summers for people to come and enjoy them with me…
* When I went out on my first ever group ride I tried dutifully pointing out potholes and other road defects as I had been led to believe I was supposed to do. ‘We don’t really bother about that up here,’ the ride leader said. ‘We just assume there are potholes everywhere. If you come across a nice smooth piece of tarmac, feel free to point that out though.’
** I would like to make it clear that I did not take the books on the 54 mile ride as they weigh even more than a full length set of curtains.
Although we haven’t had quite the scorching week we had been forecast, the weather today was the sort of weather that might have been ideal for spending in the garden if it wasn’t for the fact that it was also the sort of weather that is apparently ideal for spreading slurry on all the surrounding fields upwind of us. So, given that I’m still trying to get some miles into my legs, we decided to take the bikes and go and sit in another less smelly garden instead, in a pub in a village to our west that claims to have Scotland’s largest beer garden,* although worryingly not much detail on its social media about whether it was serving lunch, a question that began to feel quite pressing as the ride there wore on.
Anyway, we arrived, we were relieved to discover that it was serving food, that there was indeed a large beer garden, and that it was completely deserted. Having downloaded the inevitable app (the young lad who was serving us was very solicitous of the two befuddled middle-aged people negotiating this unfamiliar piece of technology, to the point of offering to go and get his own phone and order for us if we couldn’t manage it, which was the spur I needed, to be honest) we settled down to eat and it was … fine. Not exactly the wondrous return to eating out and hospitality we have all supposedly been longing for, but fine. In 2021, that will have to do.
The ride back, on the other hand, was full of fun and excitement. Fun, in the form of some millionaire’s shortbread bought in the shop opposite the pub to fuel us on the way home, which was a good deal better than fine (although that might just be the sugar talking). And excitement in the form of a roadful of cows who had discovered that the gate to their field had been left open.
I was too busy getting in touch with my inner cowgirl to take any photos, but getting them back in involved a high speed bike chase (cows can move pretty quick when they choose to), and by the time I’d managed to overhaul them and turn them back towards the open gate a rural traffic jam (one camper van, one delivery van, one cyclist and a couple of cars) had assembled. With the help of the camper van driver we got them back in eventually (although one cow decided it would be better to actually clamber over the wall rather than go through the open gate five feet to her left, which was quite a sight). Oddly – to me, anyway – everyone else just sat in their vehicles and watched, except for the cyclist who waited for a gap in the cows and cycled on his way. No doubt if the cows had been on a truck being backed around a tricky corner, we’d have had half a dozen people appear out of nowhere to offer helpful advice on the situation. But apparently not so much when they’re loose and galloping around. Honestly, some people have no sense of adventure. Why go to the pub when there’s freelance livestock wrangling to be done?