GrumpyGregry
Here for rides.
It all started with a phone call to the guy on the desk next to me some three months ago. "Blast" he said, or words to that effect, and went on to explain that someone had dropped out of the team he was due to be leading for some charity sponsored event or other. "You do a bit of cycling don't you?" he asked. The clue was the black bike parked next to my desk I guess. "Don't suppose you fancy coming to Scotland for a bit of a walk and a bit of a ride?" I took a look at the web link he emailed me, 16 mile walk 39 mile ride, and explained, after a little bit of related research, I'd consider it but on one, significant, condition; that I could take my own bike and not ride one of the bikes for hire offered to participants.
Thus last Thursday evening I found myself outside London's Victoria Station, panniered up on my touring bike, with said colleague in tow on his cross bike plus rack and small rucksack. Some advice obtained from the CycleChat forum had suggested a simple route to Euston for the Caledonian sleeper, for it was his first ever bike ride in London whilst I've commuted in town and am a regular Boris Bike user now I live and work in leafy Sussex. We were carrying a slightly over the top amount of luggage, we needed gear for several hours hill walking and several more hours riding for the event and we had decided to ride our bikes from Glasgow Central Station to the start of the event in the small Stirlingshire village of Drymen. The original plan was that from there they would be collected by our event support vehicle/team and taken to the bike change over point. We also needed clothing for two evenings in the pub and a train journey home and the weather forecast was for rain and more rain. At least we were not camping. Things had become complicated on Wednesday evening when the bike transport arrangements came up short so we made an executive decision on Thursday morning; to ride from Glasgow to Callander, the walk/bike interchange, and taxi it back to Drymen for the start on Saturday morning, and then to hire a cab with bike rack for the journey back from the finish at Kenmore, in Perth and Kinross to Glasgow Central on the Sunday. A work commitment to be at a conference on Monday meant we had to be back, no matter what. Phone calls we made, cabs were booked, and the plan came together.
The ride across town went broadly as planned, only one attempt was made on our lives and we arrived at Euston with time to spare. Boarding the train was a confusing affair as we were told our berths were in coach E and the bikes were to go in coach A with the latter being in the middle of the train. There's logical. The doors to coach A were locked but a steward arrived and got us onboard. Risk management instincts kicked in and we stripped the bikes of everthing nickable and locked them to the racks before going off to find our berths. This proved entertaining as we are both "big units" and the corridors on the Caledonian sleeper are not intended for the likes of us. Some hilarity with the steward ensued and with a lot of to-and-fro we stashed our bags in our small but perfectly formed billet. Next stop the lounge car, where the game of "It's him/her off the telly" was played as both Ranulph Fiennes and Kirsty Wark were to be our travelling companions. A couple of wet ones and a large whisky seemed as good a guarantee of sleep as any and as we slid past Rugby we called it a night and turned in.
After a surprisingly good nights sleep we freshend up and decanted ourselves onto the platform in Glasgow and began the faffage of reloading all our bags onto the bikes. My colleague had spent some time working in Glasgow and suggested we take the side exit from the station to as to be on the southside and thus nearer our goal of Sustrans NCN Route 7. We learned from that mistake as we carried our loaded bikes down the stairs! Pausing to determine 'which way is up' on the streets of a strange city and with my trusty Etrex eventually getting a lock on the satellites we set off. All we needed to do was follow the line on the OpenCycleMap on my Garmin and check the little '7' signs and we would soon find our destination.
With the river to our left we headed out of the city centre and soon drizzle began to fall, in Patrick a cycle commuter nearly had a head-on with me which raised the old heart rate a bit, by Clydebank where we picked up the Forsth and Clyde Canal this had turned to a steady light rain but the novelty of the experience made light of this as we rolled past a giant BMX sculpture complete with U-lock and a sail-thru fish and chip shop.
Along the tow path we rolled, very easy going, until just short of Bowling, where the canal meets the river. We pottled about in Dumbarton, firstly becuase we mislaid the path (got lost) and secondly because we were looking for a cafe for breakfast, we had yet to eat that morning. But the good folk of Dumbarton are canny with their cash, why eat out when you could have a cooked breakfast at home. The aroma of several wafter our way from houses along the route.
We crossed the Leven and turned north, having been travelling west for some while since leaving the train. Suddenly everything had a much more rural feel, albeit one with trading and industrial estate built in to the landscape. With the river on our right on we went, still easy going on the flat. We didn't fancy the look of Renton or Alexandria as breakfast spots so on we went pausing only for me to don my waterproofs and overshoes as the rain became increasingly heavy. My ride partner had travelled light in this regard and was complaining of cold feet as his shoes were soaked.
On arrival in Balloch the growling of my stomach could not be ignored and I made a quick dive into the Tourist Information Office, much to my colleagues disgust as he doesn't ask directions whereas I'm much more in touch with my feminine side and didn't fancy riding randomly about the place trying to find a cafe. Turned out "The Corries" was right on our route, has a pair of sheffield stands on the pavement opposite in clear sight of the window and is next to a small supermarket.
Two full scottish breakfasts later, washed down with OJ, much coffee, toast and water, and we were ready to go back out into the stair rod rain. Crossing the road was like being hosed down, the only consolation was that there was no wind to chill us to the bone. Into the supermarket I went and got some Fry's Turkish Delight aka the cyclist's friend, a bottle of water and a small carton of jucie to fill my bidons with, and two carrier bags. I explained I could not care less how my partner felt about the idea of putting these over his socks and inside his shoes but he was to do it or we would not turn another pedal together that day. I had his best interests at heart. I knew after Balloch the fun really starts. We would leave the dead flat well surfaced tow paths and join the country lanes, fire roads, forest tracks and exposed places of east of Loch Lomond, and that this would be the first time he had taken a loaded bike on an off road as oppossed to merely traffic free path. It would be hard work from here to Callander even with warm feet and decent waterproofs!
The road to Drymen was undulating but with no serious challenges apart from the odd on coming 4WD driven at breakneck speed and not slowing down despite the obvious narrowness of the road. At Drymen we asked in the Post Office for directions to our B&B. On answering the door the proprietor greeted us, looked us up and down and said "You'll be wanting some clothes dried then!" We quickly explained our change of plan, that all we needed immediately was to drop our panniers off and then we would be away to Callander to leave the bikes there and return by cab. The look on his face spoke volumes.
A few minutes later we were on our way. From Drymen NCN& runs for 3km uphill climbing about 150 metres in the process. My legs felt dead and my bike felt like it was carrying more weight rather than less but hey ho onwards and upwards we went. Loosing hieght rapidly we reached Gartmore where the magic words "Coffee Shop" were etched in the glass of the community shop window. There was something of the "this is a local shop for local people" feel about the place at first but we explained we had seen the sign on the glass and were in pursuit of a coffee. A request for a kidney donation would have been greeted with more enthusiasm but grudgingly a cafetieire was produced and a Genoa cake purchased to accompany the coffee. This passed for 'lunch'.
The ride from Gartmore to Aberfoyle is a delight and the scenery amazing but my enjoyment was eroded by the tightly bunched contour lines on the display of the GPS with our route clearly going right across them. The 'main' road over the Menteith Hills is called the Duke's Pass. If I was the Duke I'd pass on it to. NCN wiggles its way eccentrically through Aberfoyle then climbs rapidly on the Duke's Pass Road before going hard right, off road, to take a short cut. Zig follows zag on fire roads and the route on the opencyclemap is somewhat different on the ground but it is all well way marked so you just have to keep the faith and keep spinning the pedals. The granny ring was engaged for the first time that day. I reckon we climbed about 275 metres in just over 3km. Ouch.
Over the watershed and Loch Drunkie can be seen far, far below us. Arse over the saddlebag, weight well back, and hands off the brakes, and down we go. Down, down, down, not pedalling for what seemed like hours but is in fact just a few minutes. Another 50m climb deposits us to the west of Loch Venachar and we follow the loch side fire road back to tarmac and thus to Wheels Cycling Centre just outside Callander where our bikes will sleep, locked up, under the trees for the night.
A phone call reveals our booked taxi has fallen though because our arrival time does not fall within the local interpretation of mid to late afternoon. Sorry but four thirty is NOT early evening and we are told six o'clock is the earliest we can be picked up. A brainwave. We are but a mile or so from the town centre, might the taxi collect us from a local hostelry and if so could they recommend one to us. Yes and Yes. Bliss.
Bliss does not really describe the walk through torrents of rain to the Waverley Hotel in Callander but it was worth every step for the quality of the beer and to see the reaction of the locals when two filthy, bedraggled, soaking wet cyclists walked through the hotel door! I ordered a Deuchars Caledonian and scarecly breaking step sloshed to the gents, took off my outer layers and turned them inside out to prevent covering everything around me with road slime. I returned to the bar and urged my colleague to do the same and he needed no second prompting. Whilst he was away I began to feel chilly for the first time in the day but behind the well stocked bar lay the answer. A large Lagavulin for me and a large Highland Park, both well earnt in my view, were obtained as meet reward for our labours. Two locals offered up the use of the bar stools they were perched on and I sat still and watched puddle at my feet spread across the floor as the rainwater drained from my wet clothes. The opposite of 'waterprof' is 'Scotland.'
Thus last Thursday evening I found myself outside London's Victoria Station, panniered up on my touring bike, with said colleague in tow on his cross bike plus rack and small rucksack. Some advice obtained from the CycleChat forum had suggested a simple route to Euston for the Caledonian sleeper, for it was his first ever bike ride in London whilst I've commuted in town and am a regular Boris Bike user now I live and work in leafy Sussex. We were carrying a slightly over the top amount of luggage, we needed gear for several hours hill walking and several more hours riding for the event and we had decided to ride our bikes from Glasgow Central Station to the start of the event in the small Stirlingshire village of Drymen. The original plan was that from there they would be collected by our event support vehicle/team and taken to the bike change over point. We also needed clothing for two evenings in the pub and a train journey home and the weather forecast was for rain and more rain. At least we were not camping. Things had become complicated on Wednesday evening when the bike transport arrangements came up short so we made an executive decision on Thursday morning; to ride from Glasgow to Callander, the walk/bike interchange, and taxi it back to Drymen for the start on Saturday morning, and then to hire a cab with bike rack for the journey back from the finish at Kenmore, in Perth and Kinross to Glasgow Central on the Sunday. A work commitment to be at a conference on Monday meant we had to be back, no matter what. Phone calls we made, cabs were booked, and the plan came together.
The ride across town went broadly as planned, only one attempt was made on our lives and we arrived at Euston with time to spare. Boarding the train was a confusing affair as we were told our berths were in coach E and the bikes were to go in coach A with the latter being in the middle of the train. There's logical. The doors to coach A were locked but a steward arrived and got us onboard. Risk management instincts kicked in and we stripped the bikes of everthing nickable and locked them to the racks before going off to find our berths. This proved entertaining as we are both "big units" and the corridors on the Caledonian sleeper are not intended for the likes of us. Some hilarity with the steward ensued and with a lot of to-and-fro we stashed our bags in our small but perfectly formed billet. Next stop the lounge car, where the game of "It's him/her off the telly" was played as both Ranulph Fiennes and Kirsty Wark were to be our travelling companions. A couple of wet ones and a large whisky seemed as good a guarantee of sleep as any and as we slid past Rugby we called it a night and turned in.
After a surprisingly good nights sleep we freshend up and decanted ourselves onto the platform in Glasgow and began the faffage of reloading all our bags onto the bikes. My colleague had spent some time working in Glasgow and suggested we take the side exit from the station to as to be on the southside and thus nearer our goal of Sustrans NCN Route 7. We learned from that mistake as we carried our loaded bikes down the stairs! Pausing to determine 'which way is up' on the streets of a strange city and with my trusty Etrex eventually getting a lock on the satellites we set off. All we needed to do was follow the line on the OpenCycleMap on my Garmin and check the little '7' signs and we would soon find our destination.
With the river to our left we headed out of the city centre and soon drizzle began to fall, in Patrick a cycle commuter nearly had a head-on with me which raised the old heart rate a bit, by Clydebank where we picked up the Forsth and Clyde Canal this had turned to a steady light rain but the novelty of the experience made light of this as we rolled past a giant BMX sculpture complete with U-lock and a sail-thru fish and chip shop.
Along the tow path we rolled, very easy going, until just short of Bowling, where the canal meets the river. We pottled about in Dumbarton, firstly becuase we mislaid the path (got lost) and secondly because we were looking for a cafe for breakfast, we had yet to eat that morning. But the good folk of Dumbarton are canny with their cash, why eat out when you could have a cooked breakfast at home. The aroma of several wafter our way from houses along the route.
We crossed the Leven and turned north, having been travelling west for some while since leaving the train. Suddenly everything had a much more rural feel, albeit one with trading and industrial estate built in to the landscape. With the river on our right on we went, still easy going on the flat. We didn't fancy the look of Renton or Alexandria as breakfast spots so on we went pausing only for me to don my waterproofs and overshoes as the rain became increasingly heavy. My ride partner had travelled light in this regard and was complaining of cold feet as his shoes were soaked.
On arrival in Balloch the growling of my stomach could not be ignored and I made a quick dive into the Tourist Information Office, much to my colleagues disgust as he doesn't ask directions whereas I'm much more in touch with my feminine side and didn't fancy riding randomly about the place trying to find a cafe. Turned out "The Corries" was right on our route, has a pair of sheffield stands on the pavement opposite in clear sight of the window and is next to a small supermarket.
Two full scottish breakfasts later, washed down with OJ, much coffee, toast and water, and we were ready to go back out into the stair rod rain. Crossing the road was like being hosed down, the only consolation was that there was no wind to chill us to the bone. Into the supermarket I went and got some Fry's Turkish Delight aka the cyclist's friend, a bottle of water and a small carton of jucie to fill my bidons with, and two carrier bags. I explained I could not care less how my partner felt about the idea of putting these over his socks and inside his shoes but he was to do it or we would not turn another pedal together that day. I had his best interests at heart. I knew after Balloch the fun really starts. We would leave the dead flat well surfaced tow paths and join the country lanes, fire roads, forest tracks and exposed places of east of Loch Lomond, and that this would be the first time he had taken a loaded bike on an off road as oppossed to merely traffic free path. It would be hard work from here to Callander even with warm feet and decent waterproofs!
The road to Drymen was undulating but with no serious challenges apart from the odd on coming 4WD driven at breakneck speed and not slowing down despite the obvious narrowness of the road. At Drymen we asked in the Post Office for directions to our B&B. On answering the door the proprietor greeted us, looked us up and down and said "You'll be wanting some clothes dried then!" We quickly explained our change of plan, that all we needed immediately was to drop our panniers off and then we would be away to Callander to leave the bikes there and return by cab. The look on his face spoke volumes.
A few minutes later we were on our way. From Drymen NCN& runs for 3km uphill climbing about 150 metres in the process. My legs felt dead and my bike felt like it was carrying more weight rather than less but hey ho onwards and upwards we went. Loosing hieght rapidly we reached Gartmore where the magic words "Coffee Shop" were etched in the glass of the community shop window. There was something of the "this is a local shop for local people" feel about the place at first but we explained we had seen the sign on the glass and were in pursuit of a coffee. A request for a kidney donation would have been greeted with more enthusiasm but grudgingly a cafetieire was produced and a Genoa cake purchased to accompany the coffee. This passed for 'lunch'.
The ride from Gartmore to Aberfoyle is a delight and the scenery amazing but my enjoyment was eroded by the tightly bunched contour lines on the display of the GPS with our route clearly going right across them. The 'main' road over the Menteith Hills is called the Duke's Pass. If I was the Duke I'd pass on it to. NCN wiggles its way eccentrically through Aberfoyle then climbs rapidly on the Duke's Pass Road before going hard right, off road, to take a short cut. Zig follows zag on fire roads and the route on the opencyclemap is somewhat different on the ground but it is all well way marked so you just have to keep the faith and keep spinning the pedals. The granny ring was engaged for the first time that day. I reckon we climbed about 275 metres in just over 3km. Ouch.
Over the watershed and Loch Drunkie can be seen far, far below us. Arse over the saddlebag, weight well back, and hands off the brakes, and down we go. Down, down, down, not pedalling for what seemed like hours but is in fact just a few minutes. Another 50m climb deposits us to the west of Loch Venachar and we follow the loch side fire road back to tarmac and thus to Wheels Cycling Centre just outside Callander where our bikes will sleep, locked up, under the trees for the night.
A phone call reveals our booked taxi has fallen though because our arrival time does not fall within the local interpretation of mid to late afternoon. Sorry but four thirty is NOT early evening and we are told six o'clock is the earliest we can be picked up. A brainwave. We are but a mile or so from the town centre, might the taxi collect us from a local hostelry and if so could they recommend one to us. Yes and Yes. Bliss.
Bliss does not really describe the walk through torrents of rain to the Waverley Hotel in Callander but it was worth every step for the quality of the beer and to see the reaction of the locals when two filthy, bedraggled, soaking wet cyclists walked through the hotel door! I ordered a Deuchars Caledonian and scarecly breaking step sloshed to the gents, took off my outer layers and turned them inside out to prevent covering everything around me with road slime. I returned to the bar and urged my colleague to do the same and he needed no second prompting. Whilst he was away I began to feel chilly for the first time in the day but behind the well stocked bar lay the answer. A large Lagavulin for me and a large Highland Park, both well earnt in my view, were obtained as meet reward for our labours. Two locals offered up the use of the bar stools they were perched on and I sat still and watched puddle at my feet spread across the floor as the rainwater drained from my wet clothes. The opposite of 'waterprof' is 'Scotland.'
