LochMaben to Stirling

A Big Jessie

I've just been looking at some pictures of the morning I set off from Lochmaben. My eyes were sunken and I have a distant look on my face. I remember riding off with a nervous and unsettled feeling in my stomach. Until then I had been ready for each days ride and ready for the challenge, even though the mileage was always quite daunting. This morning however, I was mentally unsure of myself. I'd had a bad night alternating between bouts of shivering and sweating.
The morning was cold and the wind was straight in my face. All I could think of was the pain I was getting when sitting in the saddle. I just couldn't get comfortable. Then it started to rain. It was like the perfect storm of problems. The energy just seemed to be sucked out of me. I was done! Literally nothing left in the tank after ten miles. I started to get worried for the first time in nearly 600 miles. I could barely pedal without feeling physically sick. I thought to myself 'If there is a low point on this adventure - I think this is it'.

The B7076 just before the rain started. Actually looks ok on this shot

I was on the B7076  parallel to the M74 that runs all the way up to Glasgow. I suspect its a lonely place at the best of times but at this moment it was a desperate place. I talked to myself trying to get motivated. Come on Brian you can do this you big soft bu**er. I kept thinking of the mileage I had to cover that day, It was another 80 miles. It seemed like a huge wall in front of me.  I looked to the sky and thought of my Sisters and the pain I knew they had been in every day. "Come on Brian, Come on, don't give in now". When I looked back down again I noticed there driving up the road, the support vehicle for the Lejoggers I'd met the day before at Shap. It pulled up and one of the chaps (he did tell me his name) asked me if I was ok.  I must have looked a mess. I told him I was really struggling that morning. "Well we'll have to do something about that" and he promptly jumped out of the van and opened the side door. He said "jump in. We'll wait here until you feel better - get yourself warm for a bit" I was really grateful. I was shivering and felt completely wasted.
They gave me a brew and a banana and suggested I call Rosemary to come and meet me. They would wait. Soon after, the riders rolled up and wanted to know if I was ok. They were a great bunch of lads from Wakefield. They suggested i ride with them as they thought I was 'completely mad' riding Lejog on my own. One guy who was a chunky but athletic looking fellow said "why don't you ride behind me? I'm that fat it'll be like riding in a vacuum". They were prepared to wait for me until I felt well enough to get going again. I was taken aback at their kindness and willingness to help, but I knew I would hold them up. So I declined their offer but thanked them all for their help and concern. We wished each other the best of luck and they rode off just as Rosemary rolled up behind. I didn't see them again on the road. I hope they made it safe to JoG. Top fellows one and all.

I climbed into the campervan and slumped on the seats. Rosemary could see that I was shot and tried to pursued me to have a rest day. I wasn't having any of it and said I just needed an hour to get myself together. It was I think, just stupid bravado and a fear of failure that made me want to carry on. We agreed that I would try and make it to Abington (about 25miles away) and see how I was, then make a decision whether to carry on. There was a campsite at Abington so I could stop if necessary. So I set off again but the pain in my groin area was spreading and I felt very uncomfortable.  I had to stand for most of time and I was getting tired really easily. Rosemary was now following me closely all the way up the road and I must have stopped and climbed into the van every five miles. It was awful. I pretty much knew after the first five miles that Abington was going to be my limit for the day and that was now becoming a struggle. I finally got to the campsite, completely spent. I didn't even have a shower. I just climbed into bed. I had  done just 35 miles in total. It had seemed like 100 and I felt a complete failure.
I called my Doctor who is a very keen cyclist. I'd seen him just before we left for Lands End.  I had picked up a bad chest riding to Llangollen in pouring rain and he diagnosed bronchitis. So he knew I was riding Lejog and he called back within a few minutes. I told him my problem and he suspected, without seeing me that I had Prostatitis, which is quite common for long distance cyclists. He suggested I had at least 24 hours rest and if it was no better, to get to a doctors or NHS walk in for strong anti-biotics, as the condition would get worse and I would definitely not complete the ride if it did.

Typical! my rest day was glorious weather

Neil Coverley's idea of a joke :-)

I must have slept for 14 hours solid. The next morning I was still very tired so we made the decision to stay and try and rest up until the following morning. We took Monty for some short walks around the site near a forested area. It was very pleasant but I found walking uncomfortable. Everything 'downstairs' felt swollen and sore. I was worried that I had come so far and I was going to fail. It was like being in a limbo land. I received a huge amount of encouragement from friends on Facebook and email. Nick Craig gave me some good advice, as he said it was common amongst cyclists. I got a bit of friendly ribbing too, which actually cheered me up. Finally the next day I woke up and felt a bit better. The sore feeling was still there but the pain and swollen feeling seemed to have gone down a bit. I decided that it was time to get my sorry **** up the road (as one friend had suggested)
I set off into the rain, not knowing how things were going to progress. I was very apprehensive. Rosemary and I had talked about my schedule and it was apparent that up until Lockerbie I had been trying to ride too far and too fast. I was riding at Neil Coverley's pace from his Lejog the year before. I'd been on course for a ten day ride and it was just too much. I was never going match Neil. He is a far stronger and more experienced rider than me and I was just kidding myself. So the ten day ride changed to a twelve day ride. It still meant at least four more 80 plus mile days and a short hop up to JoG but mentally it gave me a boost. It wasn't a race but why had I tried to match Neil? I think looking back it was that he had encouraged me so much, I felt it was possible. That and being a competitive idiot.
I slowly rode myself in as I headed away from the B7076 onto the A702 for Forth and the central belt between Glasgow and Edinburgh. The rain abated a little and I started to feel ok. I stood out of the saddle as much as I could to rest my bum and prostate. The roads were gently undulating and wound through a thickly forested area. The heady smell of pine sap combined with the cool air, made the stretch up to the town of Forth feel fresh and invigorating. It gave me a real lift. I met Rosemary at Forth, where it started to rain heavily whilst I scoffed a lunch of Scotch pie and fresh bread from the local butchers. One thing that was a theme of the ride through both England and Scotland was how helpful and friendly people had been to us. Rosemary in particular thought the Scots were lovely. She had made a conscious effort to buy fresh produce from local shops where possible. It made each of our meetings a real treat, as I would wonder what Rosemary had managed to find for me to eat. I remember the piping hot Cornish pastie back in Bampton or the pork pie and cheeses in Bewdley. The steak and ale pie at Shap (from the amazing farm shop at Tebay services) and the hot Scotch pie at Forth. Awesome. Tesco Shmeshco.

I didn't see much that day

It was hard getting out of the camper and into the rain but I had to get going again. The next stage of the journey would lead into Falkirk and I wasn't particularly looking forward to it, especially with the grim weather. I rode through the town of Whitburn, then took the national cycle route heading for California. Yep you did read that correctly! California, near Falkirk proudly announces itself as 'the sunshine village' on the sign outside the village hall (that had ten foot security railings around it) Apparently there is a toxic waste dump at California, so I can understand the locals clinging to anything to make their lives and the place sound cool.
I had arranged to meet Rosemary at California as it might be difficult to find somewhere to meet up in Falkirk and beyond. It turned out to be a good decision. I had just said goodbye and set off down a steep hill that overlooked the Firth of Forth. Edinburgh and the docks at Leith loomed in the distance to east with Falkirk directly ahead. It looked like a Lowry painting of industrial gloom in the rain. I have never been comfortable in cities. I am a country bumpkin. I like hills and fields and rivers and fresh air. I feel claustrophobic and slightly intimidated in cities, so I had a sense of forboding as I freewheeled downhill.
Something snapped behind me! The back wheel just locked up. The bike snaked and jumped like a bucking bronco. I was ready for coming off and clenched my teeth waiting for the bike to go down, but it didn't. I've no idea how I managed to keep it upright and came to a halt. I quickly inspected the damage. The rim on the rear wheel had disintegrated and spokes had popped straight out. The wheel had gone from straight to looking like an S bend in a split second and locked in the brake calipers. I was very lucky it was the rear wheel. Had it been the front I'd have been toast. I called Rosemary and asked quickly how far she had got, heading for the motorway. Luckily she was still just round the corner Phew! So she turned round and found me examining the damage a few minutes later. The luckiest thing was that we had a spare wheel in the van. Neil had brought one from the Bike Factory as a back up when I was in Cheshire. The slight buckle I had noticed in the midlands had just bitten me on the backside. I'd not swapped it, as the replacement was £300 and I could take it back if I didn't use it. It was sitting in the back of the van looking very smart but very expensive. Its funny how priorities change with necessity. It fitted beautifully and I was so grateful that Neil had picked it up for me. It was teaming down and I had no choice.

The Falkirk wheel - British Engineering at its best

I said bye to Rosemary again and gingerly headed off for Falkirk. It's a big sprawling town sitting between Glasgow and Edinburgh and was an iron and steel town during the industrial revolution. It sits on the Forth-Clyde and Union canals and is now famous for the Falkirk wheel, an amazing feat of engineering that lifts boats from one canal to the other. Neil had suggested I go and have a look if I get chance. So when I saw a sign for the wheel as I headed through the rain, I thought 'stuff it - lets go have a look'. I was soaking wet but not cold. I got to the visitors centre and was admiring the wheel when I heard a big pop. The rear tyre had burst off the rim. I just shook my head and laughing, looked in the air and shouted "Is there anything else you want to throw at me" I had a good giggle as I thrutched around trying to get the bl**dy tyre back on the rim. I must have been feeling better.
I'd not checked that the tyre was seated properly. I assumed it was ok and just pumped some air in it when I changed the wheel. Eventually I got it seated and set off. With all the messing around, time had marched on and I was in the thick of rush hour. The roads were mad busy and the spray made it really difficult to see where I was going. I decided to forget my maps and just follow the road signs. It really is no fun riding through a big town in the rain, especially in rush hour. Drivers are very impatient with you. For some reason in Scotland, bus and coach drivers seem to have a death wish for cyclists. They give you zero room and do not slow down for you. I wondered had someone slapped a big sign on my back saying "Hey you Jocko, I'm a Sassenach and I hate bus drivers" Mind you I was cycling past Bannockburn and close to the Wallace monument. As I wiped the sweat mixed rain out of my eyes I practiced my best Mel Gibson Scottish accent.  I've no idea why either!

Blair Drummond Campsite - Very nice, even when it's raining

I was getting tired by this time. I crossed over the M9 at Stirling and headed for the campsite at BairDrummond. It was another six or so miles to the west. The rain was relentless and I was completely soaked. Its actually not too uncomfortable riding wet, as long as you are warm. Get cold and things can get nasty for you very quickly. However the road was pretty flat and I found a pleasant B road through a forested area. I began to smile to myself. I had managed to get through the day ok and I felt a million times better than I had a couple of day back. I turned on to the A84 and saw the sign for the campsite. It's a really nice feeling when you know that very soon you will be warm and dry and having something to eat. I looked over my shoulder ready to turn right when I heard "POP" the rear tyre went flat. "Nooooooooooooo not now please"I bellowed (laced with some full bodied Anglo Saxon) luckily there was an old fashioned bus shelter on the corner so I could sit and change the tyre in the dry whilst I muttered to myself.
The day had certainly had been a test. I think I got everything thrown at me that day but as I coasted into the campsite I couldn't help smile to myself. I'd made it and I felt ok. I must have looked like a drowned rat when Rosemary saw me. She looked horrified but I was smiling away to myself so she soon relaxed. The showers were hot and the site was beautiful. The best we had been to by far. Over dinner I said to Rosemary I was going to finish this ride. Nothing was going to stop me now. Not a broken wheel, not a puncture and not a swollen prostate either.

I just had the small matter of another 300 miles into the Highlands and beyond to do now. But that's another story.

Next up - Into the Highlands -with Eagles and Typhoons