Braemar 2016 Lerwick to Aberdeen
All packed up, girlfriend kissed, I headed for the ferry to start the journey south. Checking in was straightforward, although the ferry crewman was over quickly to tie my bike up, so I grabbed the bag of valuables and wash kit out of the pannier and left him to it. Arriving up in the bar I ordered a cider and paid the £4.45 requested with a feeling of surprise that I wasn't being told to bend over and touch my toes at that price. I sat there wondering if the 3 lights I had left attached to the bike and the seat wedge containing my tools and spares would still be there in the morning. Of course they would, I was leaving from Shetland, although I would have to be more careful once I reached the badlands of Aberdeenshire and the Highlands.
I went to the room containing the pods, looking very much like devices of torture. Their inability for the seat to lay flat took me back to six months of nights sleeping in a reclining chair looking after my dad through his terminal cancer. A difficult time on all accounts, not helped by trying to sleep in a reclining chair.
Few pods were booked, and those that were seemed to be by middle-aged female refugees from Shetland's Wool Week, which had just finished. An opportunity for makkin and yakkin according to the adverts I had seen about. One woman had a bad cough, wheezy, and I felt her pain. Other clicked their knitting needles. They had been doing it all week and probably couldn't stop now, such was the power of muscle memory.
The pod comes with a very thin fleece blanket, a very thin pillow and an eye mask, all wrappeed in the noisiest of cellophane wrappings. The eye mask is surprisingly effective, but needs to be as the seats are angled to give your eyes the benefit of the glaring lights, at about 8pm though at least some of them went off. Among the coughing, crisp eating, sweet bag scruffling and muttering and mumbling I managed to drop off to sleep for about half an hour, but only after I had stripped off some clothing. A colleague had told me that it was cold in here at night so I had added 720 grammes to my luggage by bringing a fully body merino "condom" to slip into. It was obviously going to be unnecessary.
I was up in the night several times to visit the bathroom, but so were many of my fellow travellers, probably due to us having reached the demographic where the bladder shrinks to some ridiculously small size. Passengers also took their turn in snoring occasionally, and after a while seemed to get into a routine, knowing when their turn was. I nodded off again about 1am. When I woke shortly before 5am my knees were giving mr grief. As I am too short for my feet to reach to footrests gravity had done its bit and the weight of my lower legs had been pulling on my knees. Hopefully this would pass. I got up and had a wash, deciding against the free shower as a I would have to go to reception to get a token for the machine as steerage passengers are not trusted to have the token overnight. What they might do with it I am unsure.
I poured out the pot of pills that I need these days to keep all parts functioning and sat down to start compiling the tale of the day. My coughing had been surprisingly mild overnight, so I hoped this was a sign of change to come.
Breakfast consisted of weetabix, all bran, grapefruit, ham, Parma ham, a Danish pastry and a mug of tea. I slipped a boiled egg into my pocket for later. That lot should be plenty to keep me going for a while. The vessel docked on time and I departed from its bowels at 07:30.
The ride was mostly along the Deeside Way, which stops every so often so you end up joining the road. You ride along for half a mile or so and spot the path has restarted in the woods to your left. You didn't notice any signpost, but there it is. Sometimes there are a couple of low walls between you and it. Sometimes it is a couple of barbed wire fences. On one occasion it was a train track. I took the occasional adjoining track wherever possible.
Frosty bench on Deeside Way. Time to put the gloves on.
Banchory arrives 19 miles later at the same time as 09:30. The Deeside way points one way, but a jogger tells me that the cafes are the other way. I choose the cafes and after much faffing about removing the nickable stuff from my bike and locking up. I wander into the cafe, legs feeling wobbly, endearing myself to one customer by accidentally kicking the chair next to him. I apologise profusely, but he just gives me a withering look. I think that he must have been schooled in withering looks at the same place as me. The bacon roll and tea revives me. I leave an hour after I arrived.
The route is flat with a slight incline all the way. A short hill is soon followed by a downhill. Being sheltered by trees the wind is barely noticed compared to Shetland. After 12 miles of unremarkable riding I arrive in Aboyne. The is a cafe that I have visited before set back from the main road behind a car park. I park up, remove the attractive items from the bike, lock up and head into the cafe, which is mostly full of the elderly sitting down to an early lunch at 11:30. I order a pot of tea, medium glass of apple juice and a coronation chicken jacket spud. The drink arrives quickly, shortly followed by a huge jacket spud, sadly cooled by the half a pound of refrigerated of sliced chicken with a tablespoon of what must be the coronation part on top. I make a brave effort, but my difficulty with swelling starchy foods has me casting around for something to help it slide down. I notice some packets of butter have been left by the previous occupants of the adjacent table. I grab two of them and mash them into the spud. I obviously didn't need this much food and end up leaving the vast majority of it on the plate. I have a pang of guilt. There are so many in this country struggling to eat, let alone in lands farther away. Although I have only done 31 miles I am already feeling the strain so I speak to the bus driver and ask if they are still running coaches on this route as a matter of course. Coaches here take bikes in the bowels of the bus, whereas buses don't. He rings the depot to inquire whether the 4pm bus out of Ballater will be a coach and this is confirmed. At least this gives me a Plan B if required. At 12:30 I cycle away, the stomach feeling overloaded and the butt feeling sore as I forgot to put the padded cycling shorts on whilst on the ferry, and although I could nip into the bushes at the side of the road, full lower half nudity could get me into trouble if some passing person happens to spot me.
Aboyne to Ballater is 11 miles and about halfway along you leave Aberdeenshire and move in the Highlands, passing the sign for the Cairngorms national park, the logo for which is a fish, a bird with a particularly nasty boil on its back. There is the occasional incline, but mostly it is just a gently uphill route. I notice that I have only been troubled by my cough when I have stopped. Keeping the flow of clean cool air into the lungs seems to be doing me the world of good.
I am riding slowly up a slight incline and I notice what looks like a smal stiletto knife in the gutter. I apply the fron brake and the bike stops quickly. I roll the bike backwards and apply the front brake. Nothing happens except the lever comes back to the grip. Stopping with the back brake I look around for the knife, which turns out to be a strip of plastic. Looking down at the front brake it appears that the left brake block is missing. I drag the bike onto the grass verge then go looking at the side of the road, where I find the Koolstop brake pad. I slide it back into the brake pad holder of the Shimano XTR brakes, but have nothing to secure it with. The design means that the pad should stay in the holder as long as I don't brake whilst going backwards. I know of a bike shop in Ballater who should be able to resolve the problem though so I continue plodding on.
I get into Ballater at 13:30 and go to find the bike shop. The shop is empty of customers at the time, but incredibly well stocked with bikes and accessories. I explain the problem. The shop doesn't have the split pin I need, but it does have some wire, which will do for now. Bike shops are generous places and no charge is made. I offer to buy something from the shop, which I am told I shouldn't feel obliged to do, but I walk away with a couple of packets of Cliff energy blocks and a small roll of Gorilla tape. I am inclined to forgo the coach and take on the rest of the journey on the bike. I might need the energy blocks to complete it.
I buy an ice lolly that I don't really want, but feel I should keep shoving food in, then sit on a shady bench in the park in the middle of Ballater sipping from my first water bottle. By 14:30 my mind is made up. I will ride the remaining 17 miles to Ballater.
There is a slight hill out of Ballater, which gets the left knee complaing, but I press on out of the village into even more impressive landscapes. I eat a couple of the energy blocks, which I have been advised not to eat like sweets, and hope that they might have some effect. They taste fine enough. I stop every mile to rest my thighs, knees and butt, and congratulate myself on picking such a lovely, dry and sunny day for the trip. The sun is low now though so I have to put my baseball cap on to keep the sun out of my eyes. Stopping becomes an every half mile occurrence once past Crathes, which seems to be a hub to go to visit Balmoral from. Balmoral is one of Royalty's homes. I assume that there is an entrance fee. They don't do much for nothing this lot!
Eventually the 30mph countdown markers arrive as I enter. There is a final hill to ascend, almost the final punishment, then it's take the junction on the right, go past the TIC then turn left around to the "Bothy", which is part of the Ivy Cottage emporium of guest house, cottage and "Bothy". I get the keys at 16:30 and the tour around this studio flat, leave my £100 "good housekeeping" deposit and am left to my own devices.
