The longest day

June 20, 2024

LEJOG Day eleven: Perth to Tomintoul

I'd always thought that the solstice was a fixed point, occurring on 21 June. Apparently not. It being a leap year, and what with lunar cycles and solar thingies and maybe the movement of Jupiter in Saturn or something, it transpires that today is actually the longest day of the year in Tomintoul, with 17 hours 57 minutes and 32 seconds of daylight. Tomorrow is a whole second shorter - I checked.

Having spent 82 miles in the saddle today, working through some pretty brutal climbs, it feels appropriate to say that it's been the longest day in a very personal sense too. Almost six hours of cycling, and several of them pure unalloyed torture.

It's been unremittingly magnificent.

They look like such harmless little bumps, don't they?

The route from Perth included four pretty enormous climbs, two of which ended adjacent to ski lifts. I'd been nervous about today since the start of the tour, and made a definite plan to take things cautiously. At 15 miles, before any real ascent had begun, I took a first coffee stop. So now it was just a 65 mile run, which felt psychologically much better.

As the scenery became wilder and more beautiful, my anticipation increased. I knew that we'd be scaling some of these hills shortly. They weren't just there for decoration, and the highland roads weren't going to gently skirt their bases. I changed down as the road rose, trying to take things easy and to save the energy in my legs for when it would be needed.

Picturesque, albeit in a deeply concerning kind of way.

We were surrounded. The b*ggers were absolutely everywhere.

Climb one, to the Glenshee ski centre, came at the end of an already long and steady ascent. A third of the way up, we passed a guy with an aggressively technical mountain bike, walking in the verge. I exchanged breathless pleasantries about the obvious advantages of e-bikes, kept my head down, and pushed away at the pedals.

I'm sure that we've all heard the well-meaning phrase "may the road rise up to meet you." It wasn't coined by a cyclist. The road kept on rising up, and it wasn't a good thing, and I kept my head down, focusing on the tarmac two feet ahead. I could see the sweat falling, running down my glasses and darkening my top tube luggage bag as it dripped. And then I looked up, and I could see what looked like the summit. The roadsides were marked by tall reflective poles, presumably to serve the purpose of cat's eyes, even when snow covered the tarmac. And there were 20 of them between us and the top. Then, slowly, ten. Then five. And we'd done it. We'd conquered the mountain.

Raven reaches the top of the hill. Despite appearances, she didn't do it alone. It was at the very summit that we also found ourselves in a new county.

The ski centre. Mercifully, bereft of any white stuff.

Rather fabulously, the summit was also home to an enormous cafe, and I went in for a proper lunch. We were surrounded by bikers: not our kind, but the sort with leathers and armour, who'd got here with the flick of a wrist and the help of a 1300cc engine. I'd like to apologise to them all for feeling superior. I know that I'm a bad person, and of course that's why I've been rained on so much recently.

I was half way through the burger when our friend on the mountain bike finally arrived. I congratulated him, and I meant it. He'd got here under his own steam too.

And I think, without too much doubt, this was and will be the highlight of my tour. The long descent through open country was bliss, with empty roads and clear views, and it seemed to go on for even longer than we'd earned. But it wasn't as emotional or as hard-won as that summit.

The following miles disappeared in the blink of an eye, comparatively speaking. Heck, they were downhill. We passed through Braemar, via a spectacular highland path which lifted us gently away from any traffic, so that the wilderness felt like our own. And we headed for Balmoral, home of the royal estate, where we paused for a moment for a last coffee and rest, before the final thirty miles, and three more enormous climbs.

You really wouldn't want a mechanical crisis here. But if the UK has a more stunning cycle track, I'd love to know about it.

Braemar village; the brook running alongside the main hotel.

And don't worry, I'm going to spare you the detailed breakdown of my sweat, and of Raven's front tyre lifting on the 20% inclines, and of the fake summits that turned a bend and became hill that went on as far as the eye could see.

I'm simply going to say that we made it. We rode them all. And on the final descent, as the road fell away from us, Raven spread her wings, and we flew. We flew down over the sweeping bends, and past the sheep and the streams on either side far below us, and the warm wind of the Highlands was with us, buffeting my ears and hurrying us on our way.

The sun shone as we landed in Tomintoul, where there was a whisky waiting.

I wish you all days like these. Slàinte.

Every uphill brings its reward. Rarely is it this spectacular.

For the record. Full details of the ride at https://ridewithgps.com/trips/192801235 . But I think this was a ride to measure in grimaces and grins, not feet and miles.

Today's ride: 82 miles (132 km)
Total: 756 miles (1,217 km)

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