GrumpyGregry
Here for rides.
The day dawned dull and wet. Looking out the cabin window whilst brushing my teeth as we rolled through Perthshire it was obvious the roads were wet. At half five the steward knocked, as promised, on the door and presented us with our complimentary tea and coffee. I can think of nothing complimentary to say about these awful drinks. Just ghastly and almost undrinkable.
Overnight stuff repacked in our panniers and helmets on heads we made our way down the narrow, rocking, corridors and through the lounge from our berths in coach M to the luggage van behind the seated coach, in coach H. We have an established exit drill. Panniers by the door, bikes out of the racks whilst the train brakes for the station, my bike in the lobby by the door. Once stopped I open the door, and dump four panniers onto the platform, and then step back up and grab my bike. My companion follows and we are off the train in 30 seconds tops.
It is a dreich day as they say up here. But we remind ourselves it is only 06:15 and as the train departs and the rain gently falls we look around us. I’m not impressed that the only “Way Out” sign points over the footbridge. I’m not lugging my bike over wet steps in spds even if I actually do have the strength to carry it. At the far platform end is a signal box and what seems to be a ramp down to it. Hurrah! The platform has a disabled access and soon we are off, through a sort of park behind the signal box and crossing under the railway into the heart of Pitlochry. We’ve arranged with our B&B that we can drop our bags with them any time after 07:00am so we have a while to kill.
As ride captain I make a swift decision. Scotland’s smallest whisky distillery is in the hills above Pitlochry and the road to it takes us past our B&B. A trip to Edradour as an early morning leg warmer is a fine way to start our tour. Steadily climbing we get a feel for riding our bikes on typical Highland terrain and a short, sweaty while later we turn right and roll down to Edradour, having spotted a micro-brewery pub at Moulin just outside the town. Photos taken we turn about. Honking is required to climb back to the main road and when we get there we see the skyline. Covered in snow. The rain is most odd. Proper full on rain drops but in no real quantity.
We descend back towards town and turn into the B&B drive. More honking! We are given a warm welcome and the lady of the house (Wellwood House) apologises that she can’t offer us breakfast as they are full with a group of German touring motorcyclists doing an end-to-end. The offer of a bacon roll is declined as we ask for a recommendation from breakfast, explaining we have until 09:45 for the third member of our party to join us from his train from Dunblane. We are assured that if we want to bail on our ride the lounge will be at our disposal all day. The Old Mill is chosen from a short list of three locations offered and we decide to ride from one end of the main street to the other whilst we look for it. We discover the location of the local bike shop whilst so doing, which would later come in handy.
Back to The Old Mill, we park up in the novel log built bike racks only to discover breakfast is not served until 08:00 “but hang on, I’ll ask the chef” and the chef duly fires up his kitchen and makes a start on our two full Scottish breakfasts. Outside the rain falls a little heavier. We discover a total absence of mobile signal and Ken, my companion, has to go outside and walk about in the street, and in the rain, so he can send a text message, to Kenny. Yep. Both my travelling companions were christened Kenneth. They go back along time having roomed together at St. Andrews University as undergraduates.
Kenny completed a ride with us, and others, last year, a charity thing called the Rob Roy Challenge completed in torrential rain, on a road bike, wearing only Kevin Keegan style football shorts and a singlet. He established a reputation as something of a hard man as a result. I was immensely relieved on his arrival to see him dressed rather more like a cyclist and mounted on an old steel-framed Spesh Hardrock complete with rack, panniers, and sus seat post.
Over breakfast I explained the ‘plan’ for the next few days. Today was to be a loop southwest along Loch Tummel, up and over General Wade’s Military Road into Tayside, for a lunch break in Kenmore which was as far north from Glasgow as we’d travelled along NCN7 last June doing Rob Roy. From Kenmore, back to Pitlochry and beer. Nods all round.
We set off in the direction of Blair Atholl on the main road and then turn left at Garry Bridge onto the B road that undulates its way above the River Tummel. A few cars pass us in clumps but with no concern. The shores of the loch are heavily forested and it is difficult to get a sense of scale for some time. Memories of the hard miles along the south side of Loch Tay last year come flooding back but the rain today is merely dripping rather than hosing us down as it did then. Tummel Bridge and elevenses in the bar at the camp site there. Average moving speed is 20kph and it is clear elevenses hasn’t come too soon for my colleagues.
We leave and turn left onto the B846 as the good general’s creation is mundanely known these days. This road is of a totally different character to the preceding B8019. Essentially it goes up. After the junction for Foss, which lies on the south side of Loch Tummel, a vicious hairpin climb kicks in. On and up we go. Rule No. 2 of the tour “We all climb at our own pace and wait at the top for the last man up” I drop Ken and Kenny and use the climb as a training ride, forcing the pace until it hurts. Mustn’t forget my LonJOG next month after all.
Just after the summit is a parking area and I pull in. I don’t have to wait that long before Ken comes into view and a little while later Kenny appears. The usual post climb pleasantries are exchanged. A hip flask of Aberlour A’Bunadh appears from my jersey pocket and is handed around by way of celebration.
Downhill to Keltneyburn then we hit NCN7 and the flat run south west to Kenmore. Ginger beer shandies are obtained and drained in the Kenmore Hotel whilst we scan the menu intently. The steak and ale pies are cooked to order, and are heaven for a hungry cyclist and Kenny and I both order the same. Ken orders a cheese sandwich and chips for lunch. Hmmmmm! Another GB shandy and we are back on the road, this time dodging large lane wide tractors trundling up and down doing goodness knows what.
After we pass Weem, over on the other side of the valley we catch a glimpse or two of the Aberfeldy distillery, then we pass through Strathtay and Logierait where, after climbing a short sharp hill that has no place on a leisure route, we turn north for the five miles to Pitlochry. Somewhere off to the right is the Blair Atholl distillery and I am just about to suggest we go and take a look when ping! something drops off Ken’s bike. A search reveals one of the strange clamps for his rack stays has gone missing and the rest of the parts are about to join it in the undergrowth. Searching for the missing part proves futile. “Right, off to the bike shop lads” and I lead the way. On arrival at Escape Route Cycle & Outdoor on the main road south out of Pitlochry the staff are sat outside eating a very late lunch. Our situation is explained, as is my need to buy some chain lube and some grease, the latter to try to stop my Brooks Flyer from continually squeaking. Ken’s bike is taken swiftly to the workshop, and the owner treats us to coffees from his in-store coffee bar. He claims they are the best in Pitlochry and having tasted his espresso I see no reason to argue. 40 mins or so later Ken’s rack has been bodged, in a manner which will outlast this trip and formany years to come, and his mech hanger straightened. I posit it may have got bent on the train. £10 for labour, and I buy my lube and grease.
We head back into town. I decide to buy some baby wipes as my bike, and chain, is filthy and I now am the proud owner of a large bottle of Finnegan's general purpose chain lube. We arrive back at the B&B in good spirits and the landlord welcomes us, and shows us to our rooms. The Kens are in a twin and I’ve a double on my own. The view from my bedroom must be the best in Pitlochry and on posting a picture of same on Facebook a debate ensues amongst exiled Pitlochrians as to where the shot was taken! Landlord then explains the bike parking arrangements and we are let loose on bike cleaning and applying the ‘Mickle Method’ to our chains. I have to instruct the guys in the latter technique, and Ken’s OCD tendencies take over and he spends the next hour meticulously cleaning his bike long after Kenny and I have finished. To be fair I chose to disregard the strange and suspicious looks Kenny has been giving me whilst I’m explaining the importance of an M check and tyre inspection before bed to avoid morning flat tyre syndrome on tour. Clearly he thinks 'serious' cyclists are a little deranged. They may be. We aren't serious cyclists.
As we go in to wash up the landlord recommends we go to the Moulin Inn for supper; the very micro-brewery pub we saw before seven that morning. We wash up and shower and put on civvies. Well, Ken and Kenny put on civvies. I don ranchsliders and tomorrow's cycling top. Tour Rule No 3 “If you can’t wear it on the bike don’t pack it on the bike”
The Moulin Inn is a short uphill walk from the B&B and in our haste to obtain beer we trample a number of others underfoot en route. The pub is packed, with a roaring, rather too roaring log fire, but just as I order the first round and set up a tab a table’s worth of folk leave and we are sorted even if sat right by the fire. The beer is great, they brew four of their own, and over the evening I worked my way from right to left. Ken attends to the banking arrangements for the trip and we all pop a ton in the whip. Haggis lasagne catches my eye on the specials menu and was every bit as good as it sounds, bread and Lockerbie butter pudding all round to follow. One more pint and we walk somewhat unsteadily, after our exertions, back down the hill.
The lounge at the b&b, complete with an honesty bar, is full so we pass it by, and despite it being only nine thirty we turn in. Happy. Tired. Full. Pished.
Vital Statistics
Distance : 86km
Ascent: 1307m (of which General Wade stuck in 260m in 6km!)
Nips taken : One
Drams taken : Nil (even though they had four Edradour expressions behind the bar.)
Pints drunk : Five
Overnight stuff repacked in our panniers and helmets on heads we made our way down the narrow, rocking, corridors and through the lounge from our berths in coach M to the luggage van behind the seated coach, in coach H. We have an established exit drill. Panniers by the door, bikes out of the racks whilst the train brakes for the station, my bike in the lobby by the door. Once stopped I open the door, and dump four panniers onto the platform, and then step back up and grab my bike. My companion follows and we are off the train in 30 seconds tops.
It is a dreich day as they say up here. But we remind ourselves it is only 06:15 and as the train departs and the rain gently falls we look around us. I’m not impressed that the only “Way Out” sign points over the footbridge. I’m not lugging my bike over wet steps in spds even if I actually do have the strength to carry it. At the far platform end is a signal box and what seems to be a ramp down to it. Hurrah! The platform has a disabled access and soon we are off, through a sort of park behind the signal box and crossing under the railway into the heart of Pitlochry. We’ve arranged with our B&B that we can drop our bags with them any time after 07:00am so we have a while to kill.
As ride captain I make a swift decision. Scotland’s smallest whisky distillery is in the hills above Pitlochry and the road to it takes us past our B&B. A trip to Edradour as an early morning leg warmer is a fine way to start our tour. Steadily climbing we get a feel for riding our bikes on typical Highland terrain and a short, sweaty while later we turn right and roll down to Edradour, having spotted a micro-brewery pub at Moulin just outside the town. Photos taken we turn about. Honking is required to climb back to the main road and when we get there we see the skyline. Covered in snow. The rain is most odd. Proper full on rain drops but in no real quantity.
We descend back towards town and turn into the B&B drive. More honking! We are given a warm welcome and the lady of the house (Wellwood House) apologises that she can’t offer us breakfast as they are full with a group of German touring motorcyclists doing an end-to-end. The offer of a bacon roll is declined as we ask for a recommendation from breakfast, explaining we have until 09:45 for the third member of our party to join us from his train from Dunblane. We are assured that if we want to bail on our ride the lounge will be at our disposal all day. The Old Mill is chosen from a short list of three locations offered and we decide to ride from one end of the main street to the other whilst we look for it. We discover the location of the local bike shop whilst so doing, which would later come in handy.
Back to The Old Mill, we park up in the novel log built bike racks only to discover breakfast is not served until 08:00 “but hang on, I’ll ask the chef” and the chef duly fires up his kitchen and makes a start on our two full Scottish breakfasts. Outside the rain falls a little heavier. We discover a total absence of mobile signal and Ken, my companion, has to go outside and walk about in the street, and in the rain, so he can send a text message, to Kenny. Yep. Both my travelling companions were christened Kenneth. They go back along time having roomed together at St. Andrews University as undergraduates.
Kenny completed a ride with us, and others, last year, a charity thing called the Rob Roy Challenge completed in torrential rain, on a road bike, wearing only Kevin Keegan style football shorts and a singlet. He established a reputation as something of a hard man as a result. I was immensely relieved on his arrival to see him dressed rather more like a cyclist and mounted on an old steel-framed Spesh Hardrock complete with rack, panniers, and sus seat post.
Over breakfast I explained the ‘plan’ for the next few days. Today was to be a loop southwest along Loch Tummel, up and over General Wade’s Military Road into Tayside, for a lunch break in Kenmore which was as far north from Glasgow as we’d travelled along NCN7 last June doing Rob Roy. From Kenmore, back to Pitlochry and beer. Nods all round.
We set off in the direction of Blair Atholl on the main road and then turn left at Garry Bridge onto the B road that undulates its way above the River Tummel. A few cars pass us in clumps but with no concern. The shores of the loch are heavily forested and it is difficult to get a sense of scale for some time. Memories of the hard miles along the south side of Loch Tay last year come flooding back but the rain today is merely dripping rather than hosing us down as it did then. Tummel Bridge and elevenses in the bar at the camp site there. Average moving speed is 20kph and it is clear elevenses hasn’t come too soon for my colleagues.
We leave and turn left onto the B846 as the good general’s creation is mundanely known these days. This road is of a totally different character to the preceding B8019. Essentially it goes up. After the junction for Foss, which lies on the south side of Loch Tummel, a vicious hairpin climb kicks in. On and up we go. Rule No. 2 of the tour “We all climb at our own pace and wait at the top for the last man up” I drop Ken and Kenny and use the climb as a training ride, forcing the pace until it hurts. Mustn’t forget my LonJOG next month after all.
Just after the summit is a parking area and I pull in. I don’t have to wait that long before Ken comes into view and a little while later Kenny appears. The usual post climb pleasantries are exchanged. A hip flask of Aberlour A’Bunadh appears from my jersey pocket and is handed around by way of celebration.
Downhill to Keltneyburn then we hit NCN7 and the flat run south west to Kenmore. Ginger beer shandies are obtained and drained in the Kenmore Hotel whilst we scan the menu intently. The steak and ale pies are cooked to order, and are heaven for a hungry cyclist and Kenny and I both order the same. Ken orders a cheese sandwich and chips for lunch. Hmmmmm! Another GB shandy and we are back on the road, this time dodging large lane wide tractors trundling up and down doing goodness knows what.
After we pass Weem, over on the other side of the valley we catch a glimpse or two of the Aberfeldy distillery, then we pass through Strathtay and Logierait where, after climbing a short sharp hill that has no place on a leisure route, we turn north for the five miles to Pitlochry. Somewhere off to the right is the Blair Atholl distillery and I am just about to suggest we go and take a look when ping! something drops off Ken’s bike. A search reveals one of the strange clamps for his rack stays has gone missing and the rest of the parts are about to join it in the undergrowth. Searching for the missing part proves futile. “Right, off to the bike shop lads” and I lead the way. On arrival at Escape Route Cycle & Outdoor on the main road south out of Pitlochry the staff are sat outside eating a very late lunch. Our situation is explained, as is my need to buy some chain lube and some grease, the latter to try to stop my Brooks Flyer from continually squeaking. Ken’s bike is taken swiftly to the workshop, and the owner treats us to coffees from his in-store coffee bar. He claims they are the best in Pitlochry and having tasted his espresso I see no reason to argue. 40 mins or so later Ken’s rack has been bodged, in a manner which will outlast this trip and formany years to come, and his mech hanger straightened. I posit it may have got bent on the train. £10 for labour, and I buy my lube and grease.
We head back into town. I decide to buy some baby wipes as my bike, and chain, is filthy and I now am the proud owner of a large bottle of Finnegan's general purpose chain lube. We arrive back at the B&B in good spirits and the landlord welcomes us, and shows us to our rooms. The Kens are in a twin and I’ve a double on my own. The view from my bedroom must be the best in Pitlochry and on posting a picture of same on Facebook a debate ensues amongst exiled Pitlochrians as to where the shot was taken! Landlord then explains the bike parking arrangements and we are let loose on bike cleaning and applying the ‘Mickle Method’ to our chains. I have to instruct the guys in the latter technique, and Ken’s OCD tendencies take over and he spends the next hour meticulously cleaning his bike long after Kenny and I have finished. To be fair I chose to disregard the strange and suspicious looks Kenny has been giving me whilst I’m explaining the importance of an M check and tyre inspection before bed to avoid morning flat tyre syndrome on tour. Clearly he thinks 'serious' cyclists are a little deranged. They may be. We aren't serious cyclists.
As we go in to wash up the landlord recommends we go to the Moulin Inn for supper; the very micro-brewery pub we saw before seven that morning. We wash up and shower and put on civvies. Well, Ken and Kenny put on civvies. I don ranchsliders and tomorrow's cycling top. Tour Rule No 3 “If you can’t wear it on the bike don’t pack it on the bike”
The Moulin Inn is a short uphill walk from the B&B and in our haste to obtain beer we trample a number of others underfoot en route. The pub is packed, with a roaring, rather too roaring log fire, but just as I order the first round and set up a tab a table’s worth of folk leave and we are sorted even if sat right by the fire. The beer is great, they brew four of their own, and over the evening I worked my way from right to left. Ken attends to the banking arrangements for the trip and we all pop a ton in the whip. Haggis lasagne catches my eye on the specials menu and was every bit as good as it sounds, bread and Lockerbie butter pudding all round to follow. One more pint and we walk somewhat unsteadily, after our exertions, back down the hill.
The lounge at the b&b, complete with an honesty bar, is full so we pass it by, and despite it being only nine thirty we turn in. Happy. Tired. Full. Pished.
Vital Statistics
Distance : 86km
Ascent: 1307m (of which General Wade stuck in 260m in 6km!)
Nips taken : One
Drams taken : Nil (even though they had four Edradour expressions behind the bar.)
Pints drunk : Five
