That’s some power of water…
July 21st, 2010 • Cycling • Somhairle
My broken wrist has healed now and in celebration I was determined to make it out on the road bike by hook or by crook, 1 month of sitting poking @ a computer and drawing pictures, though productive, does nothing for ones soul or mid-rift for that matter. So off I went intent on a light pootle on shallow roads and warm rain – or so I thought. Spinning through the back roads from Balloch I made it Dumgoyne, I felt good my wrist ached a bit now and then but a constant shuffle around the bars kept it at bay, it was a revelation to not have a totally ridged forearm / wrist and my legs felt fresh and up for it. I was going to make the most of this feeling in my legs and decided I was going to scale the Campsies from the steep side. So off I swung towards Kilearn and Fintry, as soon as i had changed tack the rain started dumping in heavy tirades. My expensive technical clothing had stood up well so far but this rain rendered their sought after properties meaningless and redundant. At least it wasn’t windy I muttered to myself as I glided along fresh, gloss black tarmac. It smoothness was bliss for the old wrist and I hunkered down and made progress. The rain did not relent, not for a minute, I was truly soaked now with screeds of wet tumbling down my face collecting on my tash, it tasted of dirt and diesel, tasty! I swung right onto the foot of the Crow Road and started up the Campsie. The road was a torrent and by this I mean a pretty respectable burn about 1mm deep meandering through the harl. My legs were responding and I made it to the top in fairly swift fashion considering my form. Stopping at the top I scoffed a packet of the kids malted biscuits, wiped my eyeballs clean and made for the descent. What a road this is, it is a pleasure to ride any which way and it to had been given a fresh patchwork of black tarmac and not before time. I actually overtook a car on my way down which is always good for a bit of confidence, the water in the rivers was white and torrid. I swung left down towards Lennoxtown and in predictable fashion the wind assaulted me big style, robbing me of my exhilarating pace. SHIT! I barked sending the previously docile roadside sheep scrabbling up the bank. The car i had passed trundled by with it’s cargo of elderly, they squinted at me as if to say I was mad (which at this point i was). It’s fine I thought, if it’s in my face here it’ll be on my back on the way home but once again my logical presumptions were blighted by old Mother Scotlands willingness to make even the most rational observation futile and pathetic. I was tired now and the grind home was grim, meeting the rush hour traffic at Strathblane was the final nail in the coffin and I struggled home like a collie dug trapped in a fence. Still it was a fine day out, I feel rejuvenated and ready to jump back into bed with the cruel and depraved mistress that is Scotland in July. Vive la Eccosse! Day in front of the Tour tomorrow me thinks.
Ha! marvelous marvelous! H