Here be preamble: VeloCake
Again, a plan is hatched. A route plotted, then replotted, then replotted. Time booked off work, so that child related stuff is all sorted and there are no distractions or requirements to be home for a particular time. The forecast is checked – conditions look pretty good. However, in the days leading up to the event, the temperatures drop and, worryingly, snow reappears. As Thursday comes closer, I become more and more determined to do this. I need to do this. There are points to be made and demons to be stared down. Someone at work asked me if I was training for something? I replied in the negative. Something has been in the back of my mind for weeks, but that wasn’t a reason for doing this. Well, okay, maybe a little but nothing had been decided as yet.
10am on Thursday arrives and, surprisingly on schedule, I’m off. If a route was a painting, this would be broad brushstrokes across Fife, Clackmannanshire and Perth & Kinross. Sweeping from one side to the other, with a handful of bail-out points just-in-case. Tunes are picked. Mogwai – all tracks – shuffle.
I set off north, partly to ensure the route hits the target, partly to get some climbing in soon, partly to give me a break on a descent as I approach the 1/3 way point. I’m making reasonable time and before I know it, I’m ascending the hill that passes the forest then swooping down the back roads towards the back of Dunfermline and Carnock.
From there, its still westwards, with a plan of hitting the West Fife Cycle Way in an effort to avoid traffic and gain more distance quickly (the original plan meant staying on the road and less distance at this point). I hit the turnoff and sliiiiide. Snow and ice. Regardless, I press on. It looks grippy enough on the main path but I lose time picking my way through some dodgy looking spots. In good time I’m spat out near Alloa and start northwards. I’m planning a foodstop soon and have three options – greasy trucker porta-cafe thing, cafe or whatever I find in Saline. Option one is nowhere to be found, option two appears to be closed, so I end up pedalling to Saline for food, which wasn’t really part of the plan. I get a sandwich, a 35p per can Red Bull knock off and more water and, as if by magic, make the sandwich disappear. I refill my waterbottle, add more Nuun and save the Not-Red-Bull for later. Pausing to note the fact that the use by date of the sandwich was the day before, I bin my waste and head out of Saline on the back road.
I’m about 5 minutes out of Saline, rapidly losing height and realise that I’m going the wrong way. I’m heading west instead of north and seem to have missed a turn off. Never mind, I’ve ridden this road before and ‘extra’ miles here mean less miles later. Well, it made sense to me…..
A slow grind takes me to Powmill and more twisty back roads northwest via Balado, Milnathort and eventually Glenfarg. In my head, I work out that I’ll hit 62.5 miles a(aka 100km) by Milnathort and the notion helps me hammer on. I hit the village and stop for a wee rest on the motorway flyover. I’ve promised myself a mars bar at Glenfarg so don’t stop for long and press on over the hill to Glenfarg and the shop. One and a half bars later, I’m all set and try to find the way out of the village. My planned route appears to be a footpath (not completely clear on the map) so I play it safe and take the road I know even though it goes the wrong way for a while, ending up at the junction with the main road. The plan here is to head west and head towards Cupar, then back towards home from there to hit the 100 mile mark.
By this point, I’m getting tired, hungry and starting to wonder if this was a good idea. However, my legs still have life in them and the need to do this still outweighs any notions of common sense.
Its at this point that I get a little surprise. I spot a signpost to Cupar and realise something – my maths has been off. A little curse, then I realise that it’s to my benefit. I’ve made up enough extra ground on the rode so far that the trip to Cupar isn’t needed. I can just hit Strathmiglo, circumnavigate the Lomonds then take a scenic route home via Kinross, Kelty and Kingseat. There’s probably a KKK joke here, but its not the time.
So, a belt down the main road, through Strathmiglo and along the drag of death. Then, Loch Leven, Kinross and a quick downing of the last gel followed by a sprint through Kelty. It was unclear what was fueling me at this point – the gel or the notion of being home shortly. Regardless, I’m quickly through Kelty and on the climb to Kingseat, followed by the traditional sprint for the mileometer (oddly slow this time…wonder why?) then doubling back on myself and heading towards the ‘Beath. Once I get over the motorway flyover, its a descent for over a mile and freewheeling all the way home.
As I’m floating down the last road before home, I have a moment of what might be clarity and think back to the conversation about training. This was hard, don’t get me wrong, but it didn’t kill me. With adequate fuel, I could continue on and although I have spent over 7 hours in the saddle, I’ve done more saddle time on MTB’s and on consecutive days too. I can do it.
It being?
It’s done. I’m in. there’s no turning back now.
