Well, due to a variety of factors, attendance has been a bit lax of late, so it's down to Duncan to actually get on his bike. The Dumfries and Galloway area of South West Scotland was the venue, where the workshy fop was enjoying a break near Gatehouse Of Fleet.
After a misty start to the day, the late afternoon saw an improvement in the weather, and for the purposes of this blog, the starting point was a fine establishment in the town, The Masonic Arms pub, which gives the Black Horse a run for it's money in the Guinness stakes.
Here's a shot of the pub culled from the net, as I forgot to take one at the time. This is actually on National Cycle Route 7, so that was followed for a mile or so, out of the town, before turning off towards the ancient dwelling of Anwoth and onto the Old Military road dating from 1763 apparently.
The OS maps of the area have this down as an "other road", but clearly a road. LIES!
Hoisting the bike over a gate, it was up the steep wooded hill, and you can well believe the road was built in 1763.
It hadn't been raining for a good few days, so perhaps the small stream running down the "road" should have been a sign of things to come.
That's a bloody steep hill, and not the best surface for cycling on. Just around that corner most of the road had been washed away, and it was inches deep with thick black mud and cow shite. I wasn't stopping to take photos, and inched forward through it in a very low gear.
I can see why the road had a gate across it. They don't show that on the map.
This is looking back towards the woodland and that steep hill from Anwoth. That was about a foot deep in the middle, the bike went along the side through the boggy ground. Not good, but surely the worst was over.
Here, our rugged hero surveys the road ahead in this very artsy self-timer shot. Quite impressive that the wind didn't blow the camera off it's precarious perch on a fence post.
Notice the rather steep hills along the side of the track. Perhaps a bit of a rain catchment area.
A tractor had obviously been along here at some point, and sunk in just a touch in places. Hard to turn back, as that steep hill behind us was too treacherous to be safe and you probably wouldn't get found for days.
Oh joy. More mud. And tractor tyre ruts. It was quite overcast and gloomy, hence the slightly blurred nature of a few of these pictures. And about ten to six as well.
But the views are quite good.
At last, a dry bit. Optimism was rising at this point that the worst was over. Red coats (the soldiers, not the Butlins mafia) had probably trodden those very stones quelling some uprising.
Mutant gorse bushes from all the Chernobyl fallout no doubt.
And then you go around a corner, and it's a flooded mudbath again. Much swearing. Way too deep and claggy to cycle through, a path was found through the gorse bushes by the wall. Shoes were somewhat soggy at this point.
Action Shot! The road surface had improved by now though. Well, at least it was dry. Like cycling over a ploughed field.
At the bottom of a really steep and rutted bit, to go over the crest of Ardwall Hill. Like 45° steep. Bike was pushed up.
Top of the hill looking back down. Only about a mile along the Old Military Road. Felt like ten.
Then at the top of the hill, the first view of our target. Cambret Hill, and the transmitter masts sitting on the top. They're at over 1100ft, the bike was currently at 470ft.
A welcome downhill bit, leafy country lanes, that sort of thing. There was more gate climbing to be done just here. I'm not a fan of gates.
This nifty little panorama was made with the free Autostitch software. Dead simple. Worth a go.
Kings Laggan farm nestling under the slopes of Kenlum Hill, which is rather pointy.
Civilisation!
So this is where I'd just come from. Maybe they could have had a sign at the other end too. That would have been nice.
I'm not sure it's even suitable for tractors.
And with the hard bit over, it was sensible roads for the duration of the ride. Onwards towards Glen, or at least that was the plan, but 500 yards further on......
As you can see, the stampede meant the road was blocked. More followed around the corner, so with the phrase "bloody farmers" echoing around the valley, it was back to the crossroads at Kings Laggan.
Now I could either abort the ride and go back along the Old Military Road, but that wasn't a sensible option, so it was all the way back down the valley, almost to Skyreburn on the coast and up the other side again. Big detour.
Still, at least it was going to be downhill for a while, and it's a nice spot of countryside to cycle through and it was only 6.30pm. Of course, probably only about a quarter of the way around unless I went back via the A75. Which is not a good idea if you want to live.
So, after dropping down the valley to the dizzy altitude of 150ft and within spitting distance of the sea, this is the view from the road on the other side, looking back at the farmhouse where the cows were blocking the way. If it looks like it's miles away, it's because it was. Three to be exact.
So, once past Glen, which is no more than a T-Junction, the road is known as "The Corse Of Slakes", another ancient route. At least this one has seen some tarmac in the last decade or so.
Starting to climb quite steeply up onto the moors too, but still only about 500ft up.
Looking back towards Gatehouse, which is over those hills in the middle. You can just make out the path of the Old Military Road going over them too.
Looking back a bit further up the climb, the vegetation is thinning out now, and once over the cattle grid, it's onto the moors proper. Sheep are lurking. You never see a sheep grid though.
And there's the transmitter on Cambret Hill. It's getting close, but it's a steep climb into a fierce headwind whipping over the tops of the hills. Not much traffic up here, so you have to hope there's no mechanical failures, or you might not be found for days. No mobile signal of course. What are those masts for then?
Up a small access road to the transmitter station, and we reach 1000ft above sea level at this gate, as close as you could get. Probably on a list of terrorist suspects already for these pictures.
The Irish Sea is just a couple of miles over the hill to the left, and the
Looking north down the little road to the transmitter, back across the moors. The cloud-shrouded mountain in the distance is Cairnsmore, the highest around. Another swanky panorama.
It was about 7.40pm now and starting to get a bit gloomy. That slow first couple of miles and the detour had messed up the timing, but luckily I'm used to cycling with Jim so I'd brought my lights just in case.
Time for a blast down the other side of Cambret Hill, heading west towards Creetown, and then loop back east onto the road following the course of the old Portpatrick Railway.
The low light levels made for few photos that weren't a blurry mess, but this one shows one of the little stone bridges crossing one of the burns. It's a gradual climb from the coast, back up to the station at 500ft. Done a lot of climbing.
Just for Jim, here's a little sheep tunnel crossing under the old trackbed.
All the sheep had gone to bed by this point.
(Not with Jim)
Just past Gatehouse of Fleet station at the highest point of this stretch, and in the distance you can just make out the Big Water Of Fleet viaduct. That's another bike ride that one.
Almost dark now. Those lights are great.
And then it was downhill
Rather dark by the end of the ride.
Very tired too. Done a lot of hills. Climbing over 1800ft in total. Ow. A good ride though.
And just to finish, a shot of my shoe the next day. Won't be riding that Old Military Road again, unless we have a two month drought first.
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