I have been steeped in two wheels ever since I can remember, even though I started of on a trike I knew two wheels was the only way to go. It seemed almost magical that art of balance and once mastered a whole new world explodes at your feet.
A new chapter is entered into the book of life that can promise fresh air, adventure and the presence of a healthy soul and mind and of course exercise.
I never really got my first push-bike until the age of about 9, before that I use to beg for a penny to go down to the cycle track were you could hire a bike to go around a predefined circuit. I loved the feeling of pedaling my way around pretend junctions.
I guess my dad worked out that shelling out pennies was leading to nowhere and the time had come to get me out of the rental market.
Coming in from school one day my dad asked me to look out the kitchen window and lying against our garage was my first bike. It was a single geared bike my dad had picked up from a 2nd hand shop.
So I was a late starter, my mum and dad had no money and in those days cycles were expensive. One of the proudest days was the cycle proficiency test that was held at the local primary school and that I passed on my new steed.
http://www.cycle-n-sleep.co.uk/cycle%20proficiency/cycle%20proficiency%20main.htm
My new bike was heaven but I quickly out grew it. My ambition was a racer, those dropped handlebars and the funny squiggly thing hanging from the back wheel. It was the bike of bikes but my parents thought they were death traps so I was guided towards a 3 speed Sturmey Archer cycle.
I thought it was an old mans bike but my father served his time on single geared bikes and to be honest it was my only option and it still had gears so I did not lose sleep over it, the racer would have to wait until another day.
The day of pick up; my dad took me down to the local Coop, they had put the money aside weekly to buy me this new bike, which must have been hard for them and I truly appreciate that now. I eagerly cycled up the road were my dad kept a close eye on me, my first long distance cycle all off about 4 miles.
Within 6 weeks I had gone through a fence breaking the spars with my hard head, this was a favorite entrance into my cul-de-sac, which I had timed to perfection using all the width of the road, but this particular day someone place a brick against the kerb, right on my racing line. The automatic pilot ejection system kicked in.
For weeks I tried to disguise the damage to my bike but eventually I would face the look of disgust at my treatment of such a fine new machine.
However my father got straight to the task from day one making sure that I could mend my bike and very soon I became the streets expert and my first foray into the mechanical world held me in good stead for later life.
I played endlessly on my bike, we would pretend we were bus and truck drivers, or cops and robbers, the imagination of youth and those spoked mounts led to many a great adventure.
Eventually I took on my first adventure, a cycle out to Gateside were my friend’s Uncle had a farm. Only the enthusiasm of youth could think about taking a 3 speed bike on a decent trek. But it was a taste of what was possible and I liked it.
Eventually the bike was stolen from our garage and I was very sad to lose an old friend, but thanks to my parents it had served it’s time and had given me many great days in the saddle. I was about 14 then.
My next bike was to be my dream, a racer; the catch was it was in bits and in many boxes. I was 15 now and had just left school and so with time on my hands I set about the task of fixing the bike up. The frame I stripped and handed over to a friend who was a coach painter, the bike returned in a nice loud orange colour. I rebuilt the bike and for very little money I had a pristine dream machine.
Before long I was working and throughout my apprenticeship as a Motor Mechanic it served as daily transport. I even remember some Friday night cycles were I would magically be singing full of jolly on my way home much later than I finished work, oblivious to the hills or weather and without realising it, breaking the law.
Such is the folly of youth. I really cannot remember what happened to that bike, I know that Motorcycles followed next and somehow the bike disappeared into the abyss of time.
My next foray was a Peugeot 10 speed racer purchased from my mother’s catalogue. I had a grand scheme to cycle Scotland and at first I was putting money into a cycle club, saving up for my first proper touring bike, however closer to the time the owner of the shop contacted me and said he was retiring. I got my money returned and consoled myself in the local boozer. That turned into a wild weekend and the cycle funds were depleted faster than a badly punctured tyre.
My First Real Trip
Summer 1984
Distance 220 miles Approx
The great expectations of adventure, the doubts and fear, the planning and the unknown all make up the overall feeling of doing something different. Knowing that it is all going to be achieved under your own steam and willpower.
I had no idea what lay ahead or that the bike I had chosen was totally unsuitable but without that knowledge I was blinded to the extra effort that would be required.
I kitted myself out, everything cheap, rack and bags and tent, spare tubes, minimal tools.
I set off in what was possibly the finest summer weather I had ever seen. I headed off from Kirkcaldy leaving my home and my mother, I was unsure how far I was heading in that first day. I have scarce memories of the first part of the journey but the first day saw me cover nearly 100 miles that took me to the outskirts of Breamar.
This included a detour to a camp site I could not find, then rerouting myself and heading up the side of Glen Shee, a climb that saw me walking after feeling the chain beginning to stretch and of course no surprise considering it was the wrong bike for the job.
Getting to the top I was exhausted and I remember asking at the lodge if there was any water to which a gent replied 'I lad if ye look at the hills aroond ya you'll see it running doon them' he took pity on me and pointed me to the drinking well in one of the blocks.
The next 7 miles was a free run down the hills and I could find my spirits being rekindled, once the road began to rise again it was time to camp. I did so beside some Germans at the side of a stream.
The next morning saw me cycle into Braemar for some breakfast, fed and watered I was ready for the next leg.
My oldest brother Robert lives in a village called Oyne by Inch, I thought it would be nice to turn up on his doorstep unannounced. I had thought I would allow 3 or 4 days to get there but now I new it was about 80 miles away and I felt I could maybe manage it.
So I set off and here I made the fatal mistake, it was scorching and I decided that removing my top would make the day so much cooler and it did. I felt in heaven, the freedom and the look on my bothers face when he would see me standing at his doorway and that I had cycled 180 miles in 2 days to get there kept me going.
Each time I looked behind I was followed by a team of midges and they must have been more tired than me as they never gave up the chase. They even hung around when I got my first puncture, no easy task fully loaded to change a tube whilst being bitten to death by flying insects.
After a day in the saddle that lasted forever it was late evening and as I cycled into Oyne I felt the great satisfaction and immense pride in what I had done. Good scoff, bath and the comfort of a warm bed seemed like the gateway to heaven.
'Knock Knock' no answer, I go around the back then the front then the back. dam did not contemplate him not being in. They have probably nipped out. I knocked on a neighbours door, a gentleman answered, I told him who I was and did he know were my brother was.
'I he said, he is in Kirkcadly I believe visiting your mother'
Well cow dung in the face would have felt better than how I felt at that point. I was about 20 then and I could feel myself about to cry for the first time in a long time.
Devastated would be an understatement, I phoned my mate back home and instantly felt better when he laughed down the other end of the phone, of course laugh I did not, now I wished the earth would open up and devour my tired exhausted carcass. To say I felt low was not the only problem, I Just did not feel to well.
I cycled down through the village, completely lost and dejected and unsure of what my next move would be. My bother was the headmaster at the local school and well known, the garage were I stopped rang around the village and before I knew it I had a garden to camp in.
The lady very kindly said I could pitch my tent and have a shower, I took my top off and the lady gasped, not at my rippling muscles but at the colour of my back. She said she had never seen such a red back. I stepped into the shower and when the water hit me I nearly collapsed.
The lady saw the state of me and said I could sleep on her couch. Now those of weak mind might be thinking 'carry on cycling scenario' but believe me I might have been young single and 20 but even a harem of gorgeous young chicks would have been passed by.
I spent the night shivering and in the morning the lady cooked me some breakfast and I left, I got as far as 14 miles down the road at a campsite in Kentore. So I decided that I had enough mileage and that a rest would make a lot of sense. I still felt pretty poor and I setup my tent and settled in for a lazy day.
The next morning found me stuck to the tent, I could not get my body of the ground, the mystery was solved when I hit the toilet block. As I washed my face I saw bubbles emerging from my back like Gremlins about to pop. I had burned my back so bad it was blistered from top to bottom.
I cycled in to Inverurie and boarded a train home, I went to hospital and got all the skin removed from my back and spent several weeks on my tummy watching the Olympics. I had also suffered a mild case of sunstroke.
What did I learn.
1) Spread out the miles
2) Minimize exposure to the sun
3) Taking cooking facilities or at least something to make tea in.
4) Right bike for the job
And check that who you are visiting is in!!!!!!!
Trip 2 Same Route,
This time I took the Army with me, 300 Miles Approx, Summer 1986!
My mate was in the Para's and his other mate was a regular and they were stationed at the same post, I told him that I was going to go on attempt 2 and before I knew it they were on board.
The pre-trip preparation was unconventional. My mother was in hospital and I had a free run for the house. Paul my mate and Tony came along, we played snooker, strummed my guitar whilst having a sing song. They had brought the Vodka and from the taste of it they were almost neat.
As the merriment went on they suggested us going out in Toga outfits and stripping off in the pub. Paul should have know that even drowning me in a vat of whiskey I would still never go for it.
I went out that night very drunk, even my brother was concerned, why we were just having a good time.
The cause of his concern became more apparent the next day in my mates house, sitting with a hangover and realising that they seemed pretty fresh. A thought occurred to me about the bottles of coke. Point being the vodkas were almost neat yet almost 4 Liters of coke disappeared. I spoke up my findings only to see there faces straining under exploding containment.
The penny dropped, they drunk the coke and I drunk the Vodka, they had hoped to stay completely soba whilst I would dress up in toga and make a fool off myself, its a prank they had performed on numerous occasions and probably not very effective on a Scottish-Irish blooded person. In the end it cost them a whole bottle of Vodka and a soba night out.
Strange the tide of youth, I barely even drink now in fact I am so close to being tea total.
The previous trip had been in one of the greatest summers I have experienced, this one was to be dogged with one off the worst.
We were plagued with rain virtually from day one, I still had the same bike as the previous trip so I had not applied the right bike for the job rule. But we did take cooking tools this time.
This time I had arranged to get to my brothers in 2 or 3 days, notice the word arrange this time.
However the awful weather meant it took 4 days to get there and guess what he was not in.
We carried on all the way to Kentore where we camped and hit the pub, to be honest cycling and pubs don't mix we were all to weather beaten and tired.
We continued to Peterhead and camped below the Prison, the weather by now had turned awful and the forecast was not good.
Through out the trip Tony moaned continually, it was very much turning into endurance, Paul and myself just kept going but we knew it was not fun.
The next morning in the tent, Paul and I awoke, we looked at each other with dripping wet noses and said in sync, Whiteheather(Our Local Pub) tonight 8 O'Clock.
We went for breakfast and made the announcement to Tony, expecting him to dance around the table but instead he said he was disappointed and very much wanted to continue. After all the moaning this was unbelievable, however, I said to Tony, that we had agreed that the decision had to be unanimous and that if he wanted to continue then we would carry on.
His face was a picture as he tried to get the words stuttering out of his mouth, we were serious, we had indeed agreed that it had to be all or nothing in the tent that morning. In the end we let him wiggle of the hook and accepted his excuses for changing his mind an deciding home was the best bet.
But yet again failure and so the challenge has festered all theses years, what can I say other than I do believe in things in three's
Watch this space
