Coming back down

June 28, 2024

LEJOG Day twelve: Tomintoul to Inverness

Some mornings are poetry, others are prose.

This morning, the Cairngorms and I were weary of each other. The skies had turned a truculent grey, the wind fought against us as we headed west, and the spirits that had serenaded us into Tomintoul were still in bed with thick heads, having overindulged on cheap scotch the night before.

Brooding, dour, overcast. Pick your own adjective. I'm laying odds you didn't go for 'summery'.

I am of course being very unfair. I'd had a wonderful celebratory meal the previous evening, with great company and flowing conversation, and had started the day with a hot bath, coffee and smoked salmon. I was in one of the most beautiful corners of the UK. But frankly, I was just a little jaded. Maybe that's what climbing hills does to you.

Tomintoul is the highest of the highland villages, and with our ultimate destination lying at sea level, I looked forward to some steady descents. But we weren't quite out of the Cairngorms yet. The first few miles saw a couple of stiff climbs, which we plodded wearily through. Lacking the challenge of yesterday's ascents, my mind wandered a little. These uphills were supposed to be behind us by now.

Newton originally observed that 'what goes up, must come down'. His observations have since underpinned our understanding of the world around us. But they don't work in the miscroscopic world, and quantum scientists hunt for the missing parts of the jigsaw, to create a unified theory. Today I am pretty confident that I encountered a useful piece of that jigsaw. Had Newton been cycling in the Highlands, like Raven and I, he might more accurately have observed that what goes down, must come up, 'up' apparently being the defining characteristic of the landscape round here. I offer this for free, if there are any budding nobel laureates out there who might find it useful in their research.

Eventually, and altogether more productively, we headed down to Grantown on Spey, near the edge of the national park, for an early coffee. With check in at three, there was time to kill, particularly with last night's hosts having rerouted me via a more scenic road which saved 30 minutes of an already short day.

That winding road heading upwards in the distance? Yup, especially for us.

I found a pleasant little cafe, with outdoor seating, and had a hot chocolate and a muesli bar which they'd christened 'sunshine slice'. I hoped it might somehow hasten the return of summer.

The next part of the ride did look up a bit, not least because Newtonian physics had now been re-established, and 'down' was once more winning. There were few significant settlements as we ventured north towards Cawdor, but the scenery was picturesque, supported by an occasional patch of blue sky.

The locals seemed nonplussed by us. Whether that's because they were unable to see beyond their fringes, remains a matter of hotly-contested debate.

This housebuilder had made a covert landgrab for the far side of the road. Let's hope no-one from the planning department notices.

The route, replanned in haste at the suggestion of my hosts, was a good one. Although I was reluctant to leave the already minor road in favour of what seemed to be a small track, I took a leap of faith and was rewarded. We found ourselves passing alone through around ten miles of forests, enjoying a different sort of landscape which even the legendary scottish midges seemed not to have discovered. Whether it's too early in the season for them, or we're too far east, I'm unsure, but it's been great to avoid their attentions on this trip.

Our private path, shortly before it plunged into the highland forests. Sadly, the tech giants have yet to master scratch and sniff, so you'll have to take my word about the heady smells of pine and heather.

View from the bridge at Dulsie, an unexpected pleasure which I imagine nearly everyone else misses. Picking the path less travelled can have its advantages.

We paused at Cawdor for a sandwich, which was ridiculously expensive. If you're a student of Shakespeare you'll know that the place comes with something of a curse, but I didn't realise it would extend to lunches. Anyway, making good our escape before we could be accosted by prophetic witches, we headed back into the western wind for the last time.

Arriving in Inverness an hour before check in, I zeroed the GPS and went for a short bike tour of the centre. It's a bustling place, with more than its share of tourism. The city is regarded as the capital of the Highlands, with kilt shops aplenty, and pipers busking on the main street. Like many large cities and towns, it sits on a river, with the beautifully-restored castle looking down on the waters of the Ness. It is, by a long way, the largest settlement that we'll encounter now, before we reach our final goal in just two days.

In days gone by, they built castles to repel the invaders.

Now, they build shops, to entice them back in.

And that's about all for today. I've adjourned to a nearby pub for fish and chips, and Raven is locked safely in the garage at the B&B. They do bike hire, and I can tell she doesn't entirely approve. I think she regards my landlady as a latter-day pimp. But tomorrow we'll both be on our way again, for the penultimate day of our mission. Just under eighty miles, and a handful of bridges. Cross your fingers for us that there are no closure signs.

You do get good top speeds with a bit of downhill. Fill details of our route at https://ridewithgps.com/trips/193184964

Today's ride: 50 miles (80 km)
Total: 806 miles (1,297 km)

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