Tuesday. Dunkeld to Carrbridge today and so into the Scottish Highlands. The Bridge B & B in Dunkeld is highly recommended (pancakes, maple syrup and bacon for breakfast) as is The Atholl pub just around the corner (bring your guitar, fiddle, etc. and play it. World Cup? What World Cup?). Lovely evening, good beer and a chat with a couple touring in a recumbent tandem (think of lying down cycling, one behind the other). Wonderfully eccentric.
Today, I really struggled for the first time. I was stiff but fine when I first set out and then I hit a very bad patch and had real self doubt. I had been very tired over the last couple of days but this was different. From Blair Atholl to Dalwhinnie (c. 30 km) I could not get above 15 kph and I was clock watching all the time. I think it was a combination of a poor surface (cycling track to avoid the perilous A9), a constant headwind from the West and an imperceptible but relentless climb. Eventually I saw a road sign saying Dalnacardoch (I think) 1450 feet and then realised that I had indeed been climbing for well over an hour without knowing it and thinking all the time that I was so slow because I had finally reached my limit.
After Dalwhinnie (a two horse town twinned, bizarrely, with Las Vegas) I turned eastward (tailwind now) and was on the flat on a good surface. For two hours I cruised with ease at just over 30 kph and all was well. Real contrast between before and after and I am still puzzled by how badly I misinterpreted the cause of my very slow pace.
Anyway, I digress. Well, actually I don't, do I. This cycling stuff is what this blog is supposed to be about. Imagine someone surfing the web looking for advice on LeJoG and finding stories about football chants that feature shower gel, X-ray specs and Old Three Fingers Boon and Bear Grylls stuffing spinythorny bush down his pants. It's not really what you'd want is it.
Now I will digress. Carrbridge has more pubs than Dalwhinnie has horses and I've tried them all (pubs not horses). That's it really.
Those all important stats:
Distance: 124.67 km
Cumulative distance: 1365.38 km
Ride time: 5h 49m 45s
Max speed: 47.7 kph
Right knee: rather worryingly it looks like a football. It's not swollen or anything but I've written FIFA 2010 on it with indelible ink and can't wash it off. Is the solitude finally taking its toll?
Today, I really struggled for the first time. I was stiff but fine when I first set out and then I hit a very bad patch and had real self doubt. I had been very tired over the last couple of days but this was different. From Blair Atholl to Dalwhinnie (c. 30 km) I could not get above 15 kph and I was clock watching all the time. I think it was a combination of a poor surface (cycling track to avoid the perilous A9), a constant headwind from the West and an imperceptible but relentless climb. Eventually I saw a road sign saying Dalnacardoch (I think) 1450 feet and then realised that I had indeed been climbing for well over an hour without knowing it and thinking all the time that I was so slow because I had finally reached my limit.
After Dalwhinnie (a two horse town twinned, bizarrely, with Las Vegas) I turned eastward (tailwind now) and was on the flat on a good surface. For two hours I cruised with ease at just over 30 kph and all was well. Real contrast between before and after and I am still puzzled by how badly I misinterpreted the cause of my very slow pace.
Anyway, I digress. Well, actually I don't, do I. This cycling stuff is what this blog is supposed to be about. Imagine someone surfing the web looking for advice on LeJoG and finding stories about football chants that feature shower gel, X-ray specs and Old Three Fingers Boon and Bear Grylls stuffing spinythorny bush down his pants. It's not really what you'd want is it.
Now I will digress. Carrbridge has more pubs than Dalwhinnie has horses and I've tried them all (pubs not horses). That's it really.
Those all important stats:
Distance: 124.67 km
Cumulative distance: 1365.38 km
Ride time: 5h 49m 45s
Max speed: 47.7 kph
Right knee: rather worryingly it looks like a football. It's not swollen or anything but I've written FIFA 2010 on it with indelible ink and can't wash it off. Is the solitude finally taking its toll?
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