Up the crow road and over the Campsie with the Monstrous, single speeded Ben Williams of Tiree, Fiona Dunn of Kilsyth – stomping the land of her fathers and the inimitable Spad Reid of Kilmorack, as yet unconvinced by the virtues of road cycling. As for me? attempts to keep up with the man from Tiree were in vain, I’m no whippet these days but if there is one man I know who should be racing it’s him! Un-fuelled, with only two lidl muesli bars in me I was heading for trouble. A major BONK back in the city was alleviated by a random rendezvous with a late night ice cream van and chips delivered by the man from Tiree. Note to self – People must eat. I throw my hands up to making such a school boy error, after years of cycling I should know better. However I still have some legs and I might be back in the game so long as the weather keeps off my spirits and I remember to eat.
July 3rd, 2012 • Random
Got kids? Take them to Abriachan it’s probably the best play park in the world.
January 15th, 2012 • Hill walking
Had a nice wee stroll up the diminutive Ben A’an today. Was nice; broke some new boots in, scrambled back through the woods and had a spot of lunch by Loch Katrine. A little pedestrian perhaps but a fine day out with good company. First of the season, you have to ease yersel’ in, Ken? Aye to the Hills…
October 15th, 2011 • Random
There has been some wet water about lately, here’s some massively over processed photos from a wet weekend in Loch Ard.
After a summer of being out on the mountain bike a grand total of 3 times, committing to do a 24hour race seemed like a good way of forcing me back to the hill. As I sit here fresh from the a82 south, tired, in pain and smelling like a rotting tramp I feel good. Why? There is no conceivable explanation.
The weather was harsh, classic Lochaber rain that ebbed from viscous drizzle to driving droplets the size of gravel. A massively improved course from previous years was at first fast and defined, proper climbs – proper descents, gone were the lonesome non-discript drags of old. The trail deteriorated in step with the weather and become an eroded minefield of draggy mud, slick roots and newly dug holes. The night shifts were hard lonely slogs, interrupted only by brief chats with folk either passing or lagging and the hugely enthusiastic (drunk?) marshals. The craic was mighty back in camp, with few dull moments of introspective pain and exhaustion.
So the question remains; Why? Why indeed, why was is so enjoyable when for vast amounts of time there was nothing but pain and contemptuous weather / terrain? The answer my friends is in the stars, there is no answer. It is a strange paradox of pain, laughter, adrenalin, sleep deprivation and the enjoyment of life’s simple pleasures camaraderie, sustenance and the comfort that comes from rest in dry clothes and warm places.
August 15th, 2011 • Cycling
To celebrate the inception of a new shed syndicate, I felt it was time to exercise the demons from my old shed. I love sheds and all they can be, they are magnificently simple refuges of dirt, oil, sweat and blood.
Last winter during a particularly low-ebb in life I set about punishing myself on some rollers. Riding rollers is odd. You go nowhere, you have to concentrate to remain upright. Constantly pedalling to stay in the same place; a dark, freezing shed in Clydebank.
So here’s to the new shed may it be a jewel in the crown of life’s simple pleasures.