Three men on three bicycles.

[f4f3]

It's something I've said I was going to do for years, ever since I lived in Newcastle. I even bought the requisite maps, and planned that journey (of around 220 miles) but never got around to it. So this year I decided to do it (since I imagine there will be nothing worse when lying on my death bed than saying "I wish I had...." If nothing else, I might wake up the three exhausted supermodels I hope to leave in my deathbed).
My original plan was to cycle on my own, enjoying the solitude, setting my own pace, stopping to read appropriate passages from pastoral poets and munch on a sausage. Steady at the back there.
Unfortunately I mentioned my idea to Paul and Eric, and they jumped on board.
The plan was fairly simple - take the Sustrans cycle routes from Glasgow to Ardrossan (40 miles) have lunch, hop on a ferry to Arran, cycle the 17 miles from Brodick to Lochranza, spend the night there, hop another, smaller ferry to Claonaig on Kintyre, cycle the 10 miles to West Loch Tarbet and then either cycle the 30 miles to the cottage via Kilberry or, if the weather was bad, take the less scenic and busier route up the East Coast, and save around 20 miles. We would mostly be on B-roads on Arran and Kintyre, with a fair bit of hilliness, so based on last week's Helensburgh run I planned on averaging around 10 miles an hour, and thought that 10 hours of cycling over two days wasn't too ambitious..
In the event, it worked out more or less exactly like that. We set off from Glasgow around 10 on Friday morning, and made the 40 miles to Ardrossan in almost excatly four hours, with a stop for a snack in Lochwinnoch. The path was mostly very good, and well signposted. I'd tried to explain the guide lines to Eric and Paul, told them how long it would take me, and let them know I was happy to meet them at the ferry. "Nonsense!" they both said, and insisted that we'd all keep the same pace. Eric is 30 kilos lighter than me, and his bike is a featherweight cyclo-cross flying machine. Paul is 20 kilos lighter than me, and fiercely competitive. With a much heavier bike. So we met up at a few spots on the way, and I was very happy with that.
Paul was looking a little bit grey from keeping up with Eric, but that wasn't really my problem. Highlight of the morning's cycle for me was having a young stag bound out in front of me, all coiled muscles and musk, and then thunder off after two hinds. The lads missed it, of course.
Kilwinning (or Hellwinning, as my mate Al used to call it, is the only place I've ever seen where the locals try to burn the roads. Seriously. There were several spots were they'd obviously started oil fires on the track. "Blood roads, bringing in foreigners, taking our young uns away..." Hellwinning wasn't the scariest spot, that was Stevenston (where we also had the weirdest weather of the journey, a bloody hailstorm).
We bolted down our late lunch and two large glasses of wine each, and made the ferry bang on time. To find out that it was 30 minutes late. Ah well.
More wine was quaffed on board, and by the time we arrived in Brodick the hail had been replaced by brilliant sunshine. The ride up the coast was pretty beautiful, and I only had to push once, for five minutes up a seemingly endless hill. I made the 17 miles in a touch under two hours, with stops to enjoy the views and buy some cheapie sunglasses to replace the ones I left behind in Glasgow.
The caravan we had booked was cheap and cheerful, and there was nothing to do in Lochranza except eat in the hotel. We did, splitting a couple of bottles of wine, and were back at the caravan for 9.30. We looked at the caravan. We looked at each other. We went back to the hotel and drank another three (or was is four?) bottles of red. Luckily I had a headlght on my bike, so when I cycled back to the park again I was able to follow the white line in the middle of the road ok. I had my only fall of the expidition here, when faced with the gate to get back in. I braked to a halt, then wondered why I was still moving, albeit sideways. My brain suggested sticking out a foot, but didn't tell me which one, and by the time I'd puzzled it out on my own I was reclining peacefully on the grass, giggling. Ah well.
My plan for the next morning was to have breakfast around 8, and catch the 9.30 ferry. We were all awake by 7.00, though, and the other two insisted on catching the first ferry at 8.15. I pointed out that this would make us an hour early for lunch at Kilberry, but they were adamant, and my objections were overecome by two bacon rolls at the ferry terminal.
The ride from Claonaig was a bugger - very hilly, and the day hadn't warmed up much. Paul and Eric hared off again, and it took me a mile or two to find the last bottle of wine from last night tucked in my backpack (oh, the backpack and panniers worked brilliantly - the backpack has a 1.5 litre water bladder (a Camelback, in the parlance) built in, which feeds out through a handy tube) and I'm sure the ready access to water was a key factor in me making it the whole way). I transferred it to a pannier, cursing merrily at those boys and their pranking ways. I caught up to them at Tarbert, where they had been waiting around 20 minutes. This was around 10 o'clock, and we had 14 miles of hills to reach Kilberry, and the only pub on the back roads. Eric said he was worried that he'd be there an hour early with nothing to do. I suggested he headed on into Tarbert and had a cup of tea for half an hour or so, but he didn't take me up on it. Paul just looked rough - keeping up with Eric had cost him again.
We decided to keep going on the longer route, though, and I rolled into Kilberry and stopped outside the Inn at 12.00 o'clock on the dot. Pity it didn't open until 12.15. And more of a pity that Eric had been there since 11.15...
Paul looked even rougher, and I offered to call unblinkered  to come and rescue him, or at least to join us for lunch. She did (lunch was marvelous) and after some talk Paul decided to bail out on the last 17 miles. Eric and I dumped our excess backgage in the car (there was much chuckling about my backpack, and hadn't I noticed the extra weight. I told them that I'd left the wine in Claonaig. I won't say the last stretch was easy, but I made it. It's the part of the journey were you cross the Kintyre peninsula from West to East, which means climbing the rocky spine of hills which make up its backbone. The road must have climbed continously for 2 or 3 miles, and I pushed a good deal of it. The climb was almost worth it for the long, long descent, which left me whooping. Unfortunately I made a wrong call on my route here. What I should have done was continue down to the main shore road into Ardrishaig. Instead I took the signposted "traffic free" route, which was twice as long, had lots of steep ascents and very tricky, technical descents, and really wasn't what I was looking for 97 miles into my journey. It had great views, though, and enough fast singletrack through the woods to get me whooping again. I was very glad I'd gotten rid of  the panniers, though. The path is totally unsuitable for road bikes, and could have been dangerous to a less experience rider (well, I'm much more used to mountain biking than roads, so it was ok for me). 
The bike computer was reading 99.75 miles as I wheeled past my front door - of course I wheeled past: and went round the block to make it up to exactly 100.
I'm very glad I did it. I'm in much better shape today than I expected to be, just some aches in my thighs and some chaffing which we will pass lightly over as unsuitable for public discussion.
Talk last night was of an Islay trip, maybe taking in Jura too, for the start of July. I might be ready to step on a bike again by then... 
..

Comments

[nicnac.livejournal.com]

That sounds like a lot of fun (and a lot of wine!)

[parthenia14.livejournal.com]

Sounds brilliant.

Huh, I was originally thinking of fitting in some cycling around a trip to your. Am still keen on reprising the route I did *coughmumble* years ago, before my knees crack permanently.

[meredyth-13.livejournal.com]

I stand by my original 'you nutter' statement, but man, what an achievement!

I am an excellent long distance driver. I consider that exercise enough. This may account for my waistline. >.>

So it's downhill all the way home to Glasgow again, then? :D

[f4f3.livejournal.com]

It was - I think the exercise balanced the wine and food, and they cushioned the exercise!

[f4f3.livejournal.com]

Would you want to bring your own bike? The ride out to Temple Wood is pretty magical...

[f4f3.livejournal.com]

I did (very, very briefly) think of riding home, but the car was much quicker!