The Cycle Path
Cycle Log
Day 14 - Friday 2nd July 2004
Pitlochry to Aviemore
Attended to another slow puncture by removing yet another piece of bottle glass from the rear tyre and replaced the worn out brake blocks. Cleaned up and ready to ride to the Pass of Killiekrankie with Chris from a local hotel specializing in mountain bike holidays. It's a growing trade in some parts of Scotland and with lots of off-road forest tracks capable of being done completely mindful of environmental sensitivities. Met the National Trust for Scotland local ranger Rob who let me wave the replica battle flag of Hugh Mackay and his claymore...a fearsome killing machine of a weapon in the days before shot. Shot off towards Blair Atholl Castle (shut) and a chatty postman on his rounds in a van. The old A9 is virtually traffic free and at the new Scottish Office section it is...a whole road to oneself...as no other cyclists either. Signs give dire warnings about the pass...13 miles without shelter, food, drink or facilities; rapid weather changes to prepare for and sudden onset snow potential. Buttoned up my Helly Hansen tighter and felt colder just reading the signs. The birch wooded, gurgly waterfall valley petered out into much bleaker moorland of cottongrasses and peat with patches of prolific marsh orchids, tufted pinks and meadow waxcap fungi. A road returning to nature before your eyes. Higher up the track surface became wearisome, gravelly and annoyingly going up and down every possible hillock. The A9 began to look very smooth, lightly trafficked with a wide margin at the edge...even the adjacent railway looked attractive. Finally summited in cold, grey cloud curling in surly mood around the mountains. Then on the descent it began to rain; then stair rod. All the cars and trucks put on their headlights and I put my head down for Dalwhinny utterly drenched. Somewhere on the downhill crossing and on yet another up and downer hillock my front suspension went bang; the bike lurched dangerously towards a ditch amidst a great clacking. Too wet to hang about and fix it so gently on to Dalwhinnie suffering from the first signs of exposure. Headed for the nearest warm place where I could stick my sleeve up the nozzle of a hot air drier and try to dry out. Went to visit the distillery to see if free drams were on offer but sadly not. Met a landrover with the word WILD written on it and asked the occupants if they knew any local bike shops...they did, I phoned; and a voice said "you're stuffed mate". I felt stuffed too with just the possibility that I could jury rig something; take some weight off the front and maybe it would be OK. The landrover team offered a lift to Aviemore which I took as the rain began to merge with the Cairngorms in a mass of sludge grey Highland cold soup. Refreshing on a summer's day but this was like November. My driver spotted a golden eagle over the mountain top but rain obscured my vision and it was gone. All the talk was of the mountain rescue call out to get some school girls and a teacher off a hill the day before. I felt I knew what they had gone through but I had only been at 1500' not amongst the Munro baggers. Aviemore has the appearance of a cattle trough; a long main street fringed by chalets, cabins, 'diners', garish eateries and petrol stations. The old Victorian station building seems to be the only architectural salvage in a pioneer for the American Dream. Even the lamp posts are adorned with both summer hanging baskets and winter ice crystals lighting. They did come on that night as my exhaling breath made little clouds of its own...it was just 5 degrees. I decided the Birdy could make it if I did no more off-roading; kept to the silkiest tarmac; and seriously reduced the weight at the front.
