Within the first mile, as we were travelling along the main road along the route that I was to take home, my Garmin lost the plot, bleeping at me to turn right, and that the finish was 11 miles away. Would that that were the case!
Soon enough we turned off the main road and into the first headwind of the day, which blew the group apart a little. We need to work on our pacelining skills, chaps
Following the Tay northwest towards Dunkeld was very pleasant, and we seemed to make good time, swooping along little country roads with the river on one side, then crossing over the turbulent water to the other side, as the hills on the horizon loomed larger with every passing mile. We ended up mixed up in a Dundee wheelers club run and I was sorry to have them turn off after a couple of miles.
As the two official rides split in Dunkeld there was no sign of
@Fubar, who had arrived in Dunkeld six minutes before us but blasted straight through, and we stopped to regroup by the bridge, at which point expensive deep-set carbon rims guy zoomed past, clearly on a mission.
In Dunkeld the Highland Games were being held, and on either side of the road, there were "No thanks" campaign stalls and "Yes" stalls set up at the entrance, glowering at each other, one of which was populated by maybe a half-dozen middle-to-late middle-aged affluent looking people, the other populated by people of all ages, backgrounds and status, and with a palpable buzz.
Four cyclists shortly continued on their way, en-wristbanded and en-stickered. Can we finish this route? YES proclaimed our fresh adornments.
(Thus concludes the political broadcast)
Shortly after Dunkeld came the first real climb of the day (or for me, second, Rait be damned!), a 13 mile climb of just over 1,000ft. We stopped to re-group at a flat section and had a chat, as the last rider on the road went past us. We then continued on the rest of the climb, which people handled in different ways. I elected to hang back, pacing myself,
@Louch rode up behind me, and as he came past he shouted about the new-to-me fact that my lycra had worn through (presumably done by the bag on the Islay trip) and that the top of my ass-crack was plainly visible for all to see through the mesh. It seemed to genuinely bother him as he powered up the hill like a goat on amphetamine - I can only presume he was fleeing from the mixed feelings that the sight will have raised in him.
A combination of shame, strategy and amusement kept me riding up the hill at pootle pace, but when I realised that we were nearing the summit, with me being a fair distance behind everyone, the word "Strava" came unbidden to me, I clicked onto the big ring and surged forward. I'm sure the KOM points I earned on the climb will come in handy some day...
The descent into Aberfeldy was absolutely magnificent, and made all the posterior-related shame and slog worthwhile. at 45.6 mph I was spinning out. Need more gears!
At the bottom of the descent was the first food stop, the guy who had overtaken us on the climb while we were stopped set off moments after I arrived. Maybe he'd seen something he was afraid of...?
Part three to follow...
to @Fubar for doing 200k 
! 
) on the bike during the week and stopped some rattles, so it's running better than ever just now 
