Scotland: Midges, Moos and Magical Mystery Tours

It’s unfortunate that this entry about the Scottish adventure has taken me so long to sit down and put thoughts into words. Not only have I found it challenging to find a truly free moment to reflect since that leg of the journey ended, but life has a tendency to throw a curveball—or three—all at once.

It feels somewhat strange to be going through our little day journal, which we've been keeping to refresh my memory on Scotland, while sat overlooking the vineyards in the Champagne region of France. But it’s lovely to finally sit and reflect on what we did—and how I ended up on this hillside in the first place.

After the Dirty Reiver, Louisa and I made our way from Northumberland to Perthshire to meet up with her parents. Louisa has family from this area of Scotland, so between our mini adventures I was excitedly introduced to many friends and relatives by her mother, who struggled to contain her absolute glee at being in the part of the world she grew up in, taking Walu for a walk on the beach and seeing her regress back into a puppy, and being introduced to the Charolais cattle her uncle introduced many years ago.

We were taken on many a magical mystery tour of “spectacular views” and “amazing fish ladders,” which we got the distinct impression had been stored in her memory wrapped in nostalgic optimism. But it was lovely to have them shared with us either way—even if the fish ladder was empty.

Although we hardly race from one location to the next in the van, it was lovely to base ourselves in one spot for a week, especially in a place we likely wouldn't have chosen in search of somewhere more well known. The added bonus that Louisa’s parents were staying in an Airbnb that could accommodate a van was very much appreciated.

Now, being a bit of a music fan, it's hard not to recognise that Perthshire and the surrounding areas have produced a number of great musicians and inspired countless songs. I tend to build many of my cycling routes around obscure personal interests, and this one was no exception. Our first port of call post–Dirty Reiver was Dunkeld, chosen entirely because of my affection for the song Parish of Dunkeld by one of the best Scottish folk bands—Silly Wizard.

The opening lines of the song are:

"Oh, what a parish, a terrible parish;

Oh, what a parish is that o' Dunkeld

They hangit their minister, droon'd their precentor

Dang doun the steeple and fuddled the bell"

How could you not want to visit a place that inspired a song about hanging a minister for stopping the parish from drinking whisky? Never has there been anything so Scottish.

As mentioned, the week mainly consisted of meeting Louisa’s friends and family and being led down memory lane. It also meant I got to catch up with a friend I hadn’t seen in some time, since he moved to Edinburgh a few years back. Chris met me in Dundee and we did a whistle-stop tour of Fife on a particularly windy day. All was fine on the way to St David’s, but heading back the other way felt like cycling through treacle.

It was lovely to catch up with him and marvel at his frame-building skills. He’s been learning to build frames for a few years now and met me on one of his creations—a particularly nice rando bike he designed for himself. It planted the seed that, down the line, it would be awesome to race one of his bikes, flying the flag for steel in a world where carbon is king.

After our week of being spoilt by Louisa’s mum, Cathrine—with hot running water, space to swing cats (if we intended), and Percy the rabbit basking in the sun on the lawn most days—we headed north towards Aviemore.

We only intended to stay in the area for a day or two, as the real draw was the West Highlands. That intention went right out the window for a number of reasons. First of all: steam trains. Louisa found a park-up spot next to a steam railway, which I absolutely loved! I didn’t want to be anywhere else. It also turned out to be a brilliant location to start various rides. We were able to explore all around Aviemore, Glenmore Forest, Dava, the Speyside Way, and everywhere in between. Each time we went out, we realised more and more that neither of us wanted to leave. It was very much a case of quality over quantity.

I had visited the area a few years ago and remembered how good Glenmore Forest is for riding, so I put a route together to show it off to Louisa. We set off from Boat of Garten and made our way to Cairngorm Mountain. The route took us through a seemingly seldom-explored part of Glenmore, and no sooner had our tyres hit gravel than we ran into a forest ranger. He flagged us down. Thinking we’d strayed onto private land, I braced myself for a telling-off. But instead, we got a warning...

He had just encountered a very angry Capercaillie. I nodded in understanding and tried my best not to let my face betray the thought running through my head: “What the fuck is a Capercaillie?”

For those as clueless as we were: a Capercaillie is best described as a turkey-sized grouse with anger management issues. This one was particularly averse to anyone straying into his turf—so much so that the ranger had spent the better part of 15 minutes trying to get past it in his truck. He advised us to take a higher route unless we fancied lacerations up to our hips. We took his advice.

The remainder of the ride was mostly uneventful—just miles and miles of beautiful countryside, mountains, and streams. Would absolutely recommend it to anyone visiting the area.

That same afternoon, we had a visitor. In a previous life, Louisa was a ski instructor living in the French and Swiss Alps each winter. It just so happens that her instructor now lives just outside Aviemore and runs a quad biking company in Rothiemurchus. She’d seen a photo we posted and, knowing the area so well, recognised we were nearby. Emma came out to meet us one evening, which quickly became an invite to spend the day with her, her son Thomas, and her husband Jaime.

We were given the instruction: “Meet me at the quad bikes at 9am.” When we got there, we were geared up immediately, and before we knew it we were racing around Rothiemurchus estate on a private quad bike tour. Emma stopped now and then to give us a brief history of the area or to point out things of interest. The tour ended with a visit to the Highland cows that have become a staple of her tours. Emma’s knowledge of the local area is amazing, and she clearly loves sharing her home with visitors.

The afternoon was spent with Emma and Thomas at Loch Eileen. Thomas especially enjoyed getting naked and sitting in the loch, throwing gravel to make splashes—much to the surprise of an American tour group, whose faces suggested they didn’t entirely approve. Emma reminded them he’s a local—a gentle nudge that cotton wool isn’t always needed when raising children.

As if Emma’s hospitality couldn’t extend further, we were invited to a BBQ with her, Thomas, and Jaime (who’d been climbing that day) to eat Highland cow.

All in all, we had an awesome day. Thank you, Emma.

Over the next couple of days, we continued exploring the area on our bikes—always coming to the same conclusion: it's one of the finest places to ride if you enjoy exploring on a gravel bike. I hate to use the term gravel bike—I’ve never been a fan of the industry's naming conventions. To me, they’re just more capable road bikes, aka all-road bikes. Personal preference aside, if you ride one, head to the Cairngorms. You’ll find many amazing roads—both paved and unpaved—that will absolutely put a smile on your face.

Speaking of unpaved roads, we were advised by multiple people to climb the Burma Road just outside Aviemore.

Apparently built by POWs during WWII, it’s a 13-mile “road” that goes straight over the mountains, dropping you just outside Carrbridge. The climb itself was pretty brutal—I often glanced down at my Wahoo only to see the gradient in constant double digits. This went on for miles. Nearing the top, I came across the most annoyingly placed gate you could imagine—almost impossible to get going again with that kind of gradient and loose gravel. Once I found my stride again, the summit was only another 1–2 km away. Louisa was fighting her own battle but joined me a few minutes later. She was still smiling, so I wasn’t in too much trouble.

The descent was something else—super fast, quite rutted at times, with some very loose patches. We stopped at the Red Stag Bothy partway down before hitting some trails more suited to a mountain bike. All in all, a great day out—but not for the faint of heart.

Although we would have happily stayed exploring in and around the Cairngorm area for the remainder of our time, we had to start heading in the direction of our next cycling event. We took a minor detour en route to the West Highlands to see our friends Sean and Anne in Forres, as they were visiting Sean's family for the weekend. We even managed to fill the van with water—but not without great effort. Thank you, Sean, for your skills and patience with a 1-litre water jug.

I’d started but never finished a ride near Spean Bridge. I was on my rando bike, Clementine, at the time—complete with wide but slick tyres. I made it as far as I could before deciding to abandon my mission and return one day with more appropriate gear. Fast forward seven years, and I came back to finish what I’d started.

The ride climbs through the Glen Roy Ice Age landscape—which is incredible in itself. The valley was once filled with giant glacial lakes formed tens of thousands of years ago when Scotland was essentially an ice cap. The cliffs still bear imprints referred to as “roads,” once the shores of those ancient lakes. There are several of them, each formed at different times during the Ice Age.

Our ride took us deep into the mountains, over countless streams and bogs, eventually arriving at another bothy. Since we’d been blessed with unusually good weather in Scotland, we took a quick dip in the river on the way back down. It felt like a thousand tiny needles stabbing all at once—but once you surrendered to it, it was very refreshing.

We stayed in Glen Roy for a few days—it’s off the usual tourist trail, which meant: no people!

Our original plan for Scotland was to road trip it by moving on nearly every day—but that idea quickly went out the window. We accepted that we’d see less of the country, but that we’d truly explore the places we did stop. In retrospect, I have no regrets. You often meet van-lifers who’ve “been everywhere,” only to realise they’ve merely passed through places—not truly been there. This mindset has definitely carried over to the European leg of our journey.

We began making our way south to Gatehouse of Fleet, in anticipation of our next race: The Gralloch

Other things of note for this entry: Don’t go to Inverness. And midges are truly the stuff of nightmares (though we only had to deal with them for one day).