Story 15: Registering to Ride The Night

An email landed in my inbox inviting me to sign up for the 'Women V Cancer Ride The Night'. I couldn't possibly resist! Especially after I managed to persuade my daughter to take part with me! It involves cycling a circular route from Windsor Race Course then all around London all through the night. I love London, especially when it's lit up at night time, and seeing it from the saddle - with my daughter (who recently moved down to London and is, ahem, about to take up cycling...) riding along beside me - amongst hundreds of other women will, I think, be a pretty awesome experience! It's not till May next year, so we've got plenty of time to prepare for cycling the 100km (eek!!) route.

Another reason I'm excited about the event is that it's helping to raise awareness of (and funds for) three different cancer charities. I guess we've all been, or at the very least know someone who's been, affected by cancer. Over the course of this past year I've lost an aunt (one year ago today actually), an uncle and a good friend from choir, all to different forms of cancer. I've also worked with many lovely people - who are either living with cancer or have lost someone to cancer - through my voluntary work at a local hospice. So, it feels really worthwhile to be signing up for something that's raising awareness and raising money towards funding research and new treatments for this horrible disease.

Having said that, I've only just finished fundraising for the STV Appeal through taking part in Pedal for Scotland, so I think I'd better wait a wee while before I set up another Just Giving page for this particular cycling event! But, in a similar vein to the wee nod I was giving my Dad by taking part in Pedal for Scotland, it seems really appropriate to be giving a wee nod to my Aunt (my Dad's twin sister) tonight by deciding to take part in the Ride the Night event.

So, there we go, another cycling adventure to look forward to. But, not till May 2014. And I'm sure I'll have one or two more stories from the saddle to tell before then...

Story 14: A perfect sunny September Sunday

Deciding to head east for our Sunday cycle yesterday was such a good call. A bit of nostalgia, soaking up the sun, fighting the wind, mucking about on the sand, crossing the Tay Bridge and cycling past a guy taking his owl for a walk all contributed to what turned out to be another good fun day on the saddle.

We started off from St Andrews and it felt really good to be back there again - lowering the tone amongst the Toffs - following our daughter's graduation from St Andrews Uni earlier on this year. We didn't spend too much time in the town though and were soon out on the cycle path, battling our way through the really, really strong wind, on our way to Guardbridge and then Leuchars. The cycle path, that's part of the National Cycling Route 1, led onto a minor road in Leuchars and beyond, before we hit the trail path that took us through Tentsmuir Forest, which holds some pretty special memories for us. Our family have enjoyed a few running club trips to Tentsmuir in years gone by and it felt really good to be back in what was one of our favourite places to run and socialise with our Central Athletic Club friends.



Tentsmuir's gorgeous; it's a forest, with lots of trail paths and nice wee areas for picnics and barbeques, with the added attraction of being right beside the beach. Not only that, you come across the strangest things in Tentsmuir...



A man, taking his owl for a walk in the woods! Awesome!

After all that excitement, we couldn't resist a wee detour off the trail and down on to the beach:
 


And, of course, I couldn't resist a wee cycle on the sand too:

 

It was just as well that we'd opted for the 'old faithful' bikes and left our road bikes in the garage! One of my old pals from Uni has been suggesting that we try some 'real' off-road cycling and, well, yesterday it felt like we made a wee start on that! Forest trails, sand, rocks and general bumpiness made a good fun change from our usual smooth road, or cycle path, rides!

After Tentsmuir, still following Route 1, we cycled through Tayport. I've got some really fond memories of family holidays there in our wee touring caravan when I was little. I can't remember if we took my bike, but I like to think we did and that yesterday I was cycling along the same wee paths that I did as a child many moons ago! While I was reminiscing, Alex was admiring the boats:

After Tayport, it was a few miles further down the cycle path to the Tay Bridge. I can't begin to tell you how much I enjoyed cycling over the bridge. There was just something really brilliant about crossing the bridge (all mile and a third of it) on my bike. I've driven over it many, many times and always enjoy the views; yesterday was a perfect day to be sauntering across on two wheels (even though the wind was fierce!) and have time to really appreciate the scenery all around us.

 And, just when I thought it couldn't get any more exciting, there was more fun to be had in the lift at the end...

                          

We did indeed have lunch next to the Discovery (the last big wooden three-masted ship to be built in Britain) and very nice it was too:

The ride back to St Andrews was much less eventful and very much tougher than I'd expected. But, we eventually made it all the same:



I'm still knackered after cycling those 38 miles yesterday but I can't think of any other way I'd like to have spent that particular sunny September Sunday. It was simply made for another great fun and not-so-serious cycle.

Story 13: It's all relative really

One of the many things that crossed my mind while we were pedaling from Glasgow to Edinburgh last Sunday was that although I feel very much like a not-so-serious cyclist, I might not look like a not-so-serious cyclist to some folk. And I guess that's made me think about how it's all relative really.

Take the guy we passed somewhere between Dennistoun and Cranhill who was cycling along in the throng without a helmet on. I guess he might've thought I was pretty serious about cycling when he saw me and my shiny white helmet bobbing along. I just thought he was a bit of a numpty for not taking safety on his bike seriously. And, I guess, just because he's not wearing a helmet doesn't mean that he's not seriously passionate about cycling.

And then there was the elderly lady we passed somewhere between Coatbridge and Airdrie who was cycling steadily along on her vintage bike amongst what looked like a few generations of her family. I guess she might've thought I was pretty serious about cycling when she  saw me and my shiny new road bike fly past  (OK, that might be a slight exaggeration...). I just thought she was brilliant for managing to cycle 47 miles in her twilight years on a bike that she's maybe been riding since she was a wee girl! Oh what seriously interesting stories from the saddle she could probably tell! And, I guess, just because she's a lot slower than she used to be doesn't mean that she's not seriously passionate about cycling.

And what about all those people that we passed somewhere between Avonbridge and Linlithgow who were walking; pushing their bikes up the big so-and-so of a steep hill? I guess they might've thought I was pretty serious about cycling when they saw me managing to pedal past. I just thought of them as fellow cyclists who were either knackered or just couldn't find the right gear or the right amount of energy to take this particular part of the challenge on on their bike. I was also thinking that they could easily have been me; I might be managing the hills a wee bit easier than before, but it's still more than likely that there'll be times ahead when I have to jump off my bike and walk with it. And, I guess, just because they had to do that during this particular event doesn't mean that they're not seriously passionate about cycling.

But what about all of those cyclists somewhere between Glasgow and Edinburgh that passed me?  For every one of those cyclists that I passed there were very many more who passed me. I guess I was thinking that they were the serious cyclists. When they passed me as I plodded up the hills, or when I was getting in their way (I'm not quite there with the cycling etiquette in a crowd yet!), or when I was falling off my bike in front of them, or when I was shouting - like a big kid - as I whizzed down the hills "Aw Man!!! This is SOO awesome!!", I wonder what they were thinking of me? Maybe they were thinking that just because I did all of those things, it doesn't mean that I'm not seriously passionate about cycling.

So, it's all relative really. I describe myself as a 'not-so-serious' cyclist because I'm not interested in sticking to any set training plan, or trying to break any records, or being really knowledgeable about some of the technicalities of cycling. But being not-so-serious about those things doesn't mean that I'm any less serious about enjoying cycling than anyone else. Yup, we might be bigger, smaller, older, younger, faster, slower, fitter or safer than our fellow cyclists but most of us have a shared serious passion; for simply getting on our bikes and going for a ride...

Story 12: A potted version of Pedal for Scotland

I've been on a high today after the excitement of completing yesterday's Pedal for Scotland challenge ride. I've also been on an ice pack after sustaining a few wee minor injuries in the process! I could write a big, long story about how amazing the whole day was; how much I thoroughly enjoyed the whole ride, how fantastic it was that the sun was shining, how chuffed I felt when I managed the big hills, how lucky I was not to get a puncture, how unlucky I was to have my chain come off half way up one of those big hills, how brilliant the munch stops were (especially the home baking at Avonbridge - mmmm!), how great the camaraderie was amongst our 8000 fellow riders, how good my butt felt at the end (Hooray! I think I've mastered the padding and saddle combination! Definitely sticking with my big, comfy Miss Marple saddle!), how grateful I am for every donation to the STV Appeal I received, how nice it felt to have a medal put round my neck for a sporting event again (it's been a long time!), how knackered I am today, how gorgeous the scenery was, how funny the wee guy at the side of the road in Glasgow was when he mimicked the supporters who were offering jelly babies or cups of water by shouting 'Ur ye's waant'n a draw o' ma fag..?', how daft I felt when I fell off my bike, how much like a proper cyclist I felt when I heard someone in the pelaton behind me shout 'Man Down!' when I fell off my bike (one of my favourite moments of the day!), how excited I was when I turned the last corner in Edinburgh and saw Murrayfield Stadium in the distance, how close to a mixture of happy and sad tears I was when I held Alex's hand as we crossed the finish line (just like you see in the pictures in all the papers after this kind of event!) and thought about how proud my Dad would've been that I'd risen to a wee challenge to raise money in his memory, and how glorious the cold beer tasted after saying 'Cheers!' to Alex at the end of yet another awesome day's cycling.

Yup, I could write a big, long story. Or, I could just let this wee video clip do the talking while I go off to nurse my injuries and polish my medal...

Story 11: Sailing and cycling on a not-so-sunny Sunday

Story 10: Reaching the top, with a saddle and a song

When you tell yourself that you can't do something it's more likely that you'll stop trying. It may well be that you really can't do it, but if you don't keep trying how will you ever really know for sure? This week I managed to do two things that I've been telling myself for years I couldn't do. Fortunately, I managed to stop listening to myself long enough to think it was possible to achieve these things and, aw man, were they worth the wait! One involves cycling and one involves singing (...bear with me...!)

1. Reaching the top (cycling)

I've always been rubbish at cycling up hills. At least, that's what I've always told myself. OK, maybe not always. When I was a kid out cycling round the ever-so-safe streets of Cumbernauld (one of Britain's 'new towns'), I wasn't rubbish at cycling up hills. Not that I remember anyway. What I do remember is the very moment when I decided that I was rubbish at hills. We were out for a family cycle along the path from Callander to Strathyre, many moons ago, when my kids were around the same age that I would've been when I was carefree cycling around the streets of Cumbernauld. We came to a big, steep hill. Off they went. All of them. Alex and the kids. Easy peasy. Off I went. Jeeso. I got about a third of the way up and everything stopped working. Not the bike, it was working fine. I just couldn't turn the pedals. So, I stopped. Alex and the kids were at the top, shouting and encouraging me on. 'Come on mum, you can do it!' But, I couldn't. I just couldn't do it. I tried a few times to get going again but it just wasn't happening. 'There must be something wrong with these gears!' I shouted up to Alex. So, he came down the hill and tried to help. Gears were fine. With a wee bit of a push and a big bit of encouragement I managed to get going again. For a few yards. Then I stopped. Everything stopped working again. Sod it. I can't do this. I'm a rubbish cyclist and I can't cycle up hills. So, I got off my bike and pushed it the rest of the way. And, ever since, I've believed that I'm rubbish at cycling up hills. Now, you might say, is that really such a big deal?! Well, no, I could definitely have got through the rest of my life without managing to comfortably cycle up a steep hill. But, aw man, what would I have been missing?!! During our cycle last Sunday, from Dunkeld to Perth and back (a few more details here) I managed to cycle up every hill without stopping and it felt totally awesome! Now, I don't think that's because I've become super-fit during these past few weeks; what I do think has changed is my attitude to trying to reach the top. Instead of starting at the bottom, looking up and thinking to myself 'I'm never going to manage this one...', I approached each of the hills on Sunday with the words of Rebecca Ramsay ringing in my ears 'Head out to the hills and enjoy their magic' (along with some of the more practical advice that I'd read on her site). And I guess this would've sounded ridiculous to me a few weeks ago - but it really was magic! I did it! And it felt great! I'm not rubbish at cycling up hills! OK, I'm still pretty rubbish at cycling up hills because a few walkers almost passed us on the way, but the point is that I can do it. I'm telling myself I can do it - or, I can at least keep trying to do it instead of keeping on saying 'nope, I'm rubbish at that, no point in even trying. Alex, gies a push..!' And that's how I'll continue to reach the top of big hills. Maybe not always quite managing it, but I'll be giving it a better go with a better attitude.

2. Reaching the top (singing)

First, I don't mean reaching the top in a talent competition or anything like that! No, I'm trying to be metaphorical here! Second, I should probably explain why there's stuff about singing on a cycling blog. Well, reference to singing's likely to crop up every now and again on this wee blog as it's something that I love and something that I do a lot of with my choir. And, the buzz that I'm getting from my cycling exploits is pretty similar to the buzz that I get from our choir exploits. I don't have a sore butt, or handle bar palsy after choir practice, but I do feel the buzz from the flow of endorphins in the exact same way as I do after a cycle. After a bad experience involving a Greek Island, a packed pub, copious amounts of alcohol, and taking the microphone to sing a very flat version of 'Oh Ye Cannae Shove Yer Granny Aff A Bus', I swore never to sing on my own in public again. I told myself that I couldn't sing solo. I thought I'd be rubbish at it and sing flat. But being a member of the Heart of Scotland Choir (no ordinary choir; more Madonna than Mendelssohn) gave me the confidence to try again and for the past year or so I've been able to walk to the microphone at the front of the choir (still pretty nervously) and sing a few solo parts. However, I still had another demon to conquer. One of my music teachers at school, many moons ago, told me that I should stick to singing low songs as I sounded 'screechy' when I hit the high notes. So, I stopped singing high notes. Because I was rubbish at it. My music teacher said so, so it must've been true. Even in the shower at home. I just didn't do the high notes. But, choir leaders Annie and Jane don't really do 'don't do', they do 'we're pretty sure you can do' and 'we'll help give you the confidence to do what we know you can do'. And, 'even if we don't know that you can do, we're going to give you a go if you'd like to have a go!' (Are you keeping up with this..?!) And so it was that last night I stood in front of the microphone in The Great Hall of Stirling Castle and sang some high notes. I thought I sounded screechy, because I've been telling myself for 30 years that I sound screechy when I sing high notes. But it seemed to go down well and, once I'd stopped shaking, I got such a buzz from reaching those top notes. Just like with the cycling, I might not always manage it, and sometimes I might sound a bit screechy or not quite make it all the way, but that doesn't mean I should stop trying.

So, there you go. Reaching the top with my saddle and a song. A great way to start the weekend!

Story 9: A picture that says it all really

One of my choir pals sent me this picture. I love it - thank you Mair! There's no story to go with the picture; I think it speaks for itself really :)

Story 8: The ride that started it all

Tour d'Arran

Date: 11 - 12 July

Distance: 56 miles 

I've mentioned our cycle round Arran a few times already, but I guess I wanted to record it properly as my first 'Ride to Remember'!

We had headed off to Arran because the sun was shining and we just fancied a wee break away from it all. Alex suggested taking the bikes and I, reluctantly, agreed. When we arrived off the ferry into Brodick I asked one of the locals which was the best way for a novice cyclist to go. ‘Well, if you head north, it’s flat for about 10 miles till you pass Sannox. And the scenery’s lovely. If you head south, you hit a really big steep hill straight away that goes on for miles and then it’s really steep up and down after that. I’d head north to Sannox and back again; that’s a good, easy route for a novice.’ So, that’s what we planned to do. However, Sannox came around ever so quickly and I heard myself saying to Alex, ‘Let’s carry on. I’m loving this and don’t want to head back the way!’ Hm, little did I know that just a few miles past Sannox we would hit two really steep hills (no, I mean it, REALLY steep hills), first through Glen Sannox and then through Glen Chalmadale.  I just about had a fit when we turned the corner and I could see the long and winding road, the breathtaking scenery and a breathtakingly humongous hill stretching ahead of me. But, with head down, handle bars gripped and a few sweary words muttered I went for it. I didn’t do a very good job but - with a lot of pushing (quite literally) and fantastic encouragement from Alex – I did manage to cycle all the way to the top of the Glens. Catching my breath on the many occasions that I had to stop gave me plenty of time to take in the truly beautiful surrounding scenery, so going at dead slow/stop pace does have its advantages! The very best thing though about going uphill is going downhill on the other side. The child in me came well and truly out and I couldn’t resist a fair few ‘Woohoo’s’ as we free-wheeled at what felt like 70 but was actually closer to 30mph (according to Alex's Garmin!) down into Lochranza.

By this time we’d cycled around 15 miles and a very yummy sandwich and real ginger beer from The Sandwich Station went down a treat. We sat on a bench opposite this lovely wee take-away place, gazing into the beautifully clear water and thinking how nice it would be to go for a swim. But, the road was calling and soon we were off again! 

I found it quite hard going between Lochranza and Blackwaterfoot, but was still thoroughly enjoying the ride. It was much more exposed than before; we’d cycled round the top of the island and were now travelling down the less sheltered side of Arran. There were a few more hills to tackle, though none compared to the challenge of the morning’s climbs. The last five miles or so before Blackwaterfoot were really tough; mostly because I was absolutely knackered, but also because some of my ‘bits’ were really sore. Like my hands, my calves, my thighs, my shoulders, my back, my back bottom, my front bottom, my ... basically, everything was sore. But, it was all well worth it. I’ll never forget how elated I felt when I spotted the ‘Blackwaterfoot’ sign and knew that I’d managed to cycle about 32 miles.

I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a beer quite as much as I did that day sitting outside Blackwaterfoot's Kinloch Hotel. I didn’t realise that beer could taste so good. To be honest, it could’ve been the rubbishiest beer on the planet, but it would still have tasted heavenly at that moment! Poor Alex then headed off over The String (the most evil road for cyclists on the whole of Arran) to collect the car so that me and my bike could be whisked back to Brodick the easy way. While he was away, I took myself into the water to help relieve my aching muscles (like a serious athlete!). The sea was icy cold, but I felt all warm and fuzzy inside just having a wee moment to think about how awesome the day had been.

The next morning we drove back to Blackwaterfoot with the bikes and took off again from where we’d stopped. This was a much, much tougher day for me. I was still running on adrenalin from the day before but my butt and my hands were particularly sore. I learned the hard way during our Tour d’Arran that gripping the handle bars really tightly won’t get me up the hills any easier and it’ll leave me with a common cycling injury (check me out!) called ‘handlebar palsy’. I’ll tell you more about that some other time. As for the sore butt, well, that’s a whole other issue that I still haven’t quite got to the bottom of.  I’m sure my quest for the best saddle, best shorts, best padding, best position and any other multitude of things that can help soften the soreness of my down-below bits when I’m cycling will take up plenty of space in my not-so-serious stories to come. For now, it’s suffice to say that the second day of our ride around Arran was much tougher – even though it was a good bit shorter – than the first. The road from Blackwaterfoot to Brodick round the south of the island isn’t as nice a road as the north route. It’s full of potholes and it’s hilly. And I mean hilly. It was a different kind of hilly from the long slog of the scenic glens from the day before. Sharp, steep, unforgiving and way too many of them. I found it really tough and I was oh so close to giving up by the time we reached Whiting Bay. We’d cycled about 15 miles and I was absolutely knackered. Fantastic views, lots of encouragement and the thought of an ice cold beer kept me going.

Lunch sitting outside a wee cafe called Coast (which I’d recommend for the food, but not for the hospitality) provided a bit of a distraction before we set off on the last leg of our tour. Those last ten miles were so hard. I kept shouting at my bike; as if that was going to make it any easier! ‘Come ON you f****r’ (sorry Mum). Oh dear. At least it was only the clegs and Alex that could hear me. And then, the glorious last bit. Hooray! That massive uphill out of Brodick that the local woman had warned us about was, for us, a fantastic downhill and my shouting and swearing turned to shouting and cheering (along with a few wee tears...) as I whizzed down towards the ‘Brodick’ sign. Aw man, I can’t begin to explain how good that felt. The wee clip that I posted on Story 1 probably best sums it up.

So, that was it. My first proper cycle and the one that got me hooked. I may well be a not-so-serious cyclist, but I seriously enjoyed our Tour d’Arran; the first, I predict, of many special (but hopefully not quite so sore) experiences on my saddle.

Story 7: Deciding to Pedal for Scotland

A few weeks ago I googled 'cycling events in Scotland', just to see what was out there for not-so-serious cyclists. Top of the search was 'Pedal for Scotland' and, after a quick read through the details, I decided to sign up for it. The farthest I've cycled in one go so far is 32 miles, but that was during our Tour d'Arran and I think I was running on adrenalin for much of that day! The Pedal for Scotland event gives you a few different options, but the route that Alex and I have gone for is the 47 mile ride from Glasgow to Edinburgh. A few of our friends have done it in the past and I'm told that there's a great atmosphere, great camaraderie and a great sense of achievement - and I believe there are a few good munch and beer stops along the way. Sounds perfect!

I'm also going to combine the challenge of the cycle with the challenge of raising some dosh for the event's nominated charity; the STV Appeal. I'd decided a while ago that I'd like to organise, or take part in, some kind of fundraising event this year in memory of my Dad (who died twenty years ago in October) so when I discovered that this cycling event was supporting a charity that supports Scottish kids who are affected by the whole range of horrendous consequences of living in poverty, I knew I'd found the one. My dad would definitely have approved; he hated to see anyone struggling, let alone children, and strongly believed that everyone deserved a fair shot at life - and that seems to be just what the STV Appeal is all about. Ocht, and I just want to do something that'll feel special for me in memory of my very special Dad.

So, I'm now going to unashamedly plug my Just Giving page - click here! - in the hope that some of you lovely readers might be tempted to make a wee donation for something I consider to be a really worthwhile cause. (Jeeso, only seven stories in and I'm already asking for cash...!) I promise that I'll be doing my best to complete the 47 mile cycle good style and, with a little luck, will gather a few good stories to share with you along the way...!

Story 6: Being a danger to the public on Boris's bike

I've only managed one wee cycle this week, partly because I've been suffering from an aching back but mainly because we were down in London over the weekend. For various reasons, it was an emotional few days so our lovely little nine mile pedal round the park, before we headed for home yesterday, was a nice way to finish our stay off. 

We set off on one of Boris's Bikes for a leisurely trek round Hyde Park. The 'Barclays Bikes' is a great scheme (and I'm sure the idea didn't come from Boris Johnson, but his name will forever be associated with it following his launch of the initiative in 2010) that allows you to hire a bike from, then return it to, one of the many docking stations that are dotted around London. It's especially great if you're only going to be on the bike for 30 minutes as you don't pay a penny for the privilege. You are, of course, a free-wheeling advert for Barclays but I guess that's a small price to pay...

Once we'd figured out the system we were off and running:

Now, as you can see, I'm not wearing very sensible cycling attire. We hadn't been planning on cycling during our visit, so I had a choice of flip-flops or court shoes to wear on my feet. The flip-flops won the toss. We also didn't have helmets, but neither did anyone else cycling around the park and it did feel strangely liberating to ride our bikes just as we did when we were kids. We didn't venture anywhere near the main roads and didn't go anywhere near fast enough to sustain a major injury! Which was just as well...

The bikes only have three gears, but I couldn't quite master them! Every time I changed up or down, I had to fiddle about with the wee twirly bit on the handlebar till the chain stopped making a clicky noise (yup, this not-so-serious cyclist hasn't quite got to grips with the lingo yet...) My incompetence with the very simple gears also meant that sometimes I'd accidentally slip from third to first, but still be peddling hard, as if I was in third. The result of this, as an innocent young couple who were out for a leisurely morning stroll discovered, was that my feet - and hence my flip-flops - were liable to fly off the pedals. Said couple not only had to dodge roller-bladers, groups of joggers and Scottish cycling plodders in the park on Sunday morning; they also had a very near miss from a flying flip-flop! I'm happy to report that they escaped unharmed and that nothing was damaged except my own not-so-serious pride. 

Apart from nearly decapitating a pedestrian, it was a really lovely wee cycle. Maybe next time I'll even venture out onto the roads on one of Boris's bikes - but very definitely only if I've remembered to pack my trainers and helmet...!