Auld Alliance - 26th and 27th April 2019

A gun shot rings in my ears, waking me with a start, another goes off shortly afterwards. It's still raining outside the bus stop that I've propped myself in the corner of, avoiding the water dripping through the gap between the roof slabs.

My first thought is how long I've been here? I get up and look at my average speed, it's still well above 15kmh good to know or perhaps not, after all sleeping past the time limit would be the easy way out now.

I'm soaked through but still warm and feel much more awake than when I sat down, it's time to crack on.

Congregating in the station

The Auld Alliance is a notionally easy 400km route making use of the gentle undulations of the Scottish Midland Valley only needing to climb gently up rivers and stiffly when crossing between the Straths and Glens where the rivers flow.
It is run on an occasional basis, generally as qualification and preparation for Paris-Brest, hence the French link in the name, many riders present had ridden the route in 2017 when it was put on as preparation for London-Edinburgh so they knew roughly what to expect. I of course live in the area knew exactly what to expect having used most of the roads on route, which of course is a bonus as well as a handicap. To add to the PBP preparation it begins with a late evening start.

A bike shed for a Départ

We set off from the old railway yards at Haymarket station at 9pm on a Friday evening, I had taken a half day at work and due to a few nights poor sleep had only managed a couple of hours rest before heading for my train south, my plan to get to work early and leave at Midday so I'd get a decent snooze was not to be as an intended 8am start turned to 10am so I was starting less well prepared sleep wise than intended.

The route took us onto one of Edinburgh's many cycle paths that utilise old railway lines, I hung onto Robbie unaware that he was matching pace with Ron Lowe who is one of the faster riders. I lost them on a rise after a few Km and rode on alone through the tracks. My Wahoo started to go mental shortly after Cramond Brig where I'd ridden past the underpass we were to use without knowing it was there.
I've never used it before, always heading for the bridge. I turned back to correct my error realizing that no one had caught me in that time. The cycle path turned to road, the roads turned from a dry dark grey to wet black. The Mossmorran flare lit the dark sky behind me but my light hardly made a mark on the road surface, rough patches and pot holes nearly disguised by the wet darkness.

A group caught me on the way into Kirkliston and I hung on as we hurtled through West Lothian, somewhere better seen in the early hours of darkness, before the night life brings out the character.
One of the riders in the group had a very bright flashing light that wrecked havoc with my eyesight as well as my mind, the water droplets on my glasses magnified and split the light, eventually it forced me to drop back on my own so I could avoid being behind them, but otherwise I hung on.

Then I lost them at a turn just before Bo'ness, traffic splitting me from them, I could only watch the light blinking away in the distance as I couldn't make the pace alone, at least that light was no longer messing with me. Out of town a series of flares marked the way to Grangemouth where the route bisected the chemical plants, pipes, flares, cooling towers and other industrial landmarks cluttered around me, it ends as abruptly as it starts and houses replaced industry, then onto a lifting bridge and the Kelpies replaced houses, and then there was nothing.
We were out on the Skinflats now. The long flat expanse of the Forth valley, small villages dotted around, we passed under the M876 at Bowtrees and into Airth.

Kirrie Velo caught me as the Wallace monument appeared from nowhere on our right, lit up standing free from the surrounding darkness, it seems so far away. One of the Kirrie riders exclaimed how far away it looks, but we're almost in Stirling.
We took a turn at a roundabout and found the roads coned out for the marathon on Sunday, the monument appeared ahead and was creeping closer another roundabout and it was above us as we flew through Causewayhead.

Dunblane

We started to climb gently through town, climbing out of the Forth Valley as we crossed the Allan Water and plunged back into the Darkness as we reached out towards Dunblane.
The motorway beside us was busy, and our road joins at the end where it turns to "All purpose", thankfully there's a path beside the Keir Roundabout so we could cut and avoid the traffic, though I didn't see the drop kerb and cycled a long way towards Dunblane on a rough path before being able to cross onto the road.

The first control was at the roundabout at the top of town, I followed the GPS track into a court yard car park it wasn't the way, trying not to wake the neeburs we retraced our steps and cycled past the church, a large banner suggesting we try Praying. "Dear lord, show us the way to the control"... nothing happened.
I guess that's not the correct usage, we carried on looking for the hall, then I retraced our wheel tracks and spotted the AUK Control sign on the gate.

Dunblane

Graeme had put on soup, biscuits and cake for us in the church hall, I half guessed the Kirrie group would hang around a bit longer than I wanted to and sat with other riders I knew wouldn't stay much longer. They left as I started to shovel down Jaffa cakes as pudding for my soup.

As I got ready to go I remarked to Graeme about knowing the roads, until Forteviot crossing I was going to be on one of my regular roads home.  Into the darkness I headed on my own, a couple of riders passed me not long after Kinbuck, and then the junction at Braco, I swore I saw a red light in the bushes. Home, Home, nice warm Home, dry bed, comfy bed, I'm riding home... NO YOU'RE NOT... Home... Home... Riders passed me on the climb to Gleneagles village.

Down through Auchterarder, the village lights snapped some sense into me, and then it was back into the darkness. Maggie Wall, the murder last year, the Witch, the sickening siblingcide. As I passed under the railway bridge, either because it was dark or I shut my eyes, a vision of a witch stabbing at me flashed in my mind and returned me to concentration. That was disturbing.

Through Dunning I passed two groups of riders by the side of the road, possibly a puncture, darkness, pitch darkness and then the lights of Perth emanated above the hill that hid them. I was still fighting the urge to go home. I convinced myself across the railway at Foreteviot, the bus shelters in the village have always looked welcoming and they're just up the road, I could roll into my bivvy bag and sleep a bit, but I didn't.

I rode up the long hill to Perth, it's harder when you can see it I'm sure, climb under the A9, and over the top, Perth opened up ahead of me a downhill rest.
I heard what sounded like Lowland Scots with an English accent spoken behind me, a small group were catching me, they passed and invited me to join, a sharp dig and I was on, thoughts of the way home evaporated instantly.

The return route in Strathmore.

Andy Berne was talking everyone through the group riding, whether as a training guide or to keep the dozies away I don't know. As the local(ish) rider I acted as a guide through Perth, straight on here, over this bridge, left, don't turn up that one (it's the way home over Kinnoull) and then out to Scone.

No drunks were there to chase us up the hill like on Kingdom Come, the A94 was quiet and we kept the chain gang going.

I was on the front at Coupar Angus and ignored the route instructions to go through the centre and used the bypass instead, a calculated risk, many Tayside traffic lights at night hold all aspects at Red until someone approaches so I knew we'd roll right though without worrying about parked cars and town centre road surfaces. Although that one left it late to change, they respond to approach speed so I guess we were going well. I saw a rider standing next to Tippers horse sculpture, but she cracked on ahead of us seconds after seeing us.

We reeled her in shortly after and we collected some more riders along the way to Forfar, the group worked well together and at a decent pace and then I lost them on the rise out of Glamis.
Seeing their lights drifting away up the rise, and then creeping closer as we descended to Forfar. I turn under the A90, at this time of night it gets in the way but I remember how bad this junction was before.

Now it was McDonalds time at last, the standard menu was still on, 10 minutes too early.
I ordered and with the amount of damp riders waiting to eat the night team were working away hard.
No table service to be had so I stood and waited, maybe I should have sat and snoozed.

The menu flicked over moments before my food was handed over, but I was not in the mood to eat two meals. I left McDonald's on my own, out into the drizzle, I knew the Geordies would catch me in no time and I was right, even though it's a long descent towards Montrose I was riding slow, too slow and when they caught me I couldn't hold their group, at least it was daylight.

A rider passed me and asked how I was, I hesitated. I was tired very tired, this wasn't like me.
He drifted away and I carried on knowing I needed to sleep, as if by magic a bus shelter appeared, I stopped and leant the bike against the shelter sitting down in the corner away from the drip between the roof slabs, Some other riders passed just before I shut my eyes.

A gun shot rings in my ears, waking me with a start, another goes off shortly afterwards. It's still raining outside the bus stop. Inside, water still drips through the gap in the roof. I'm feeling much better and more awake. I carry on down to the Montrose Basin where there's an info control, I guess what the answer is on the way, I was nearly right.

The sole remaining Kirrie Velo rider with Russell's Group

The next stop is at Brechin where I need to get a receipt, it's also the halfway mark.
I stop at the first shop I see and procrastinate over what to buy, I settle on an empire biscuit and a water top up, locals arrive even at this early hour to put their numbers on.

I'm Forfar bound again, I know I'll get there before breakfast ends, and I know what I'm getting, however this isn't a control though I have to check with Russell to be sure before binning my receipt.
It's a long way to Comrie now, the route there is back the way we came but on the interesting roads from Glamis. We take the Balkeerie road to Newtyle I know so well, my preferred route home from these parts of Angus, but I've no thought of going home now.

An info question at Newtyle and I'm guessing the answer as I go, the first name on the war memorial; what's a Scottish name that'd be found in Angus that begins with an A? As it turns out I get it right.
I'm still on roads I know, and there's a sharp climb ahead, The rain has stopped and the sun is coming out.

Black Hill and Dunsinnan Hill,
The name altered for Shakespearian rhyming purposes
has largely stuck in writing if not universal in speech

Riding along the back of the Sidlaws, witches come to mind again, not the fictional Maggie Wall of Dunning, but the fictional three witches of Macbeth.

Double Double Toil and Trouble, Macbeth shall never vanquished be, until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him.

Not Shakesperian Tourism, but a puncture stop

As I ride beside Buttergask, Kingseat and Dunsinnan hills, I spot a group ahead, it's Russell's bunch stopped fixing a puncture, I stop and chat, they're talking of finding somewhere in Perth, I crack on as I want to reach Comrie.
They catch up, and the only place in Perth on route I can think of is Tesco at the football ground, I don't know if there's a match on, it could be carnage.

We ride through Perth together, they've decided to try for Comrie too and we turn into Strathearn off the A85 at Huntingtower, the local road starts surprisingly busy.
We ride through the woods and cross my Moulin Rouge route.  I've never ridden this road but I know exactly where we are as sign posts point to places on the A9 and A85.






The highlands loom to our north but we aren't going there today. The gap formed by the Sma' Glen is ominously dark, it's still raining up there.  We briefly kiss the edge of Crieff, but there's no need for a pit shop, I'm think still feeling good. The Strowan road arrives, it's downhill to Comrie, but it doesn't feel it. I lose the group with 2km to go on a rise and realize how knackered I am, I struggle on to town and look for the pile of bikes finding them outside Hansen's.

Comrie

I stagger in and stare at the menu, looking for the largest meal without cheese, I spot it in the bottom corner, Special Breakfast baguette, sounds perfect, I order two cakes and ask for them first, a good cyclists trick to get the sugar in for the fast burn energy to fill the gap before the main meal energy turns on.  I take two cans of full sugar juice to perk me up some more.

We finish up eating and set about the climb of Cultybraggan, it's not too long or too hard and very pretty.
A crack echoes ahead as the tube expires in Graeme's tyre. We've been waiting for this as the repair from earlier didn't fix the hole in the tyre. Just as well it happened on the climb.
We stop to admire the view as fitting of new tube and tyre boot takes place, the highlands are set out in front of us as a panorama, ominously dark while blue skies and sunshine warms our damp tired bodies, this is the last real climb.

Cultybraggan

We get going again and I hang on until the summit where something unusual happens, I don't have a kick left for the long flat plateau and I see the others disappearing along the road ahead; that big meal and cake wasn't enough.

I struggle on feeling like the spent force that I am, I roll down into Braco and then struggle along to Kinbuck, the short rises feel like mountains, I churn them out.  Finally I'm rolling into Dunblane, Russell had said something about M&S but I don't know where that is, so hang a right at the roundabout by the retail park and down to Tesco. I don't buy what I need, just a bar of chocolate and more water.

Puncture stop with a view

Puncture stop with a view

Down back through Bridge of Allan and Causewayhead, this time I'm to carry on the north side of the Forth, a prettier route through Clackmannanshire, ideal for daylight, as too are the cycle tracks even though they're a bit dithery in their route along the hillfoots and then south to the coast.

The Ochils looking moody

At Culross I stop and take note of the answer to the info question and then realizing I'm outside a pub I dive in to get a sugar top up.  The bar looks more like a Restaurant and the proprietor seems concerned (or given the state of me perhaps relieved) that I'm only there for a drink, although every time the phone rings it's answered with an apology about being fully booked.

Culross, the u is an oo, don't pronounce the l and the o is an uh

I see a rider fly past from the window as I finish my drink and step outside.  I decide to alter my kit, it's nice now, my hands are too warm and my cap is soaking. I put my mitts on and go capless under my lid. Within minutes I'm regretting it as I join the main road towards Rosyth the heavens open.  The sole remaining Kirrie Velo rider catches up with me as I wait to cross from a bit of cycle path I foolishly put myself on back to the road, I ride with David to the bridge where he disappears as I take a brief respite stop behind some boulders.

I take the cycle paths back through Edinburgh, I take a wrong slip track at a junction but swoop back up as the sign corrects me, and soon I'm beside the tram lines at Haymarket. I collect my lock from where I left it and ride to the station, the traffic looks manic so I hop off and walk to the Ariveé in the pub, where regulars part as a stinking, damp cyclist makes his way to the welcoming party.