This story took place many years ago, when I was 14 years old. This was the year I had finally built, what I considered at the time, my ultimate racing bicycle. Of course by today’s standards, it was probably about as heavy as a messenger bike, but it did have 10 gears and I was proud of it!
It was coming up to the first long weekend of the Spring, and I announced to my family that I was going to cycle from home in Edinburgh to my grandparents’ house in Ayr, which was about 85 miles, total. After my announcement, I was surprised that there were not quite as many objections as I had expected.
The long weekend came up, and as I had promised, there I was up and ready to leave home at 6:00 a.m., without a care in the world or any worry as to whether I could make it. I knew the route that I was going to take: the A71, which we had travelled many times in my father’s car years earlier. Setting out, it was of course raining, but I had my rain cape on and what harm would a little bit of rain do anyway?
I soon got to the outskirts of town and onto the A71 as planned. What I had not given much thought to is how much the wind comes into play when you are out on the open road. I soon realized that I was fighting a fortunately light head wind, but nevertheless, a head wind.
By the time I got to East Calder, the first small town after leaving Edinburgh, I stopped and got off the bike and got into a telephone box (yes, the old red ones that you see in the old movies). I stood there soaking with tears streaming down my face wondering what had I done! I removed my socks and shoes, wrung out the socks and stuffed them into my saddle bag and put my shoes back on.
It was now decision time: just turn around and head back home, or get back on the road and keep going? The answer was obvious, I should just go back home.
Who said anything about doing the obvious? I had said that I would cycle to Ayr, and by God, that was what I intended to do. So, with tears still streaming down my face, mixing well with the rain, I got back on the road and kept heading west. By the time I got through West Calder and was heading onto the Breich Moors, they looked and felt just as desolate as the name sounded. On one side, huge coal bings were everywhere–huge piles of waste from all the coal mines in the area. On the other side, miners’ rows–lookalike houses occupied by the miners and their families.
The only improvement by this point in the trip was that the rain was stopping and the sky was starting to brighten up. There was still the ever-present wind in my face, but as the sky brightened, so did my countenance and determination to carry on, regardless. Finally, over the moors and heading into Newmains, where I stopped at the local tea shop for an egg roll and a wee cup of tea. I felt like there was nothing better to cheer you up and give you strength.
After Newmains, the path starts to head into the Clyde valley, which always seemed like the halfway point of the journey. Of course, that’s a glorious ride all the way down into the bottom of the valley and across the bridge where the River Clyde runs very small and quiet.
But what goes down… because now came the tough part of cycling up the other side, which was no mean feat. In all the years that I cycled, including around the North of Scotland a year or two later, I never once got off to push my bike up a hill; there might have been some strange maneuvers back and forth but never once did I get off!
Finally the Clyde valley was behind me and the weather was still good, apart from the incessant wind (mutter, mutter). I then headed through Stonehouse and on to Strathaven. There was a Great Fish and Chip Shop there, but no time for that today. My goal was getting to Ayr.
On the outskirts of Strathaven was a huge house known as Lauder Hall, the home of Sir Harry Lauder. He was well known in the entertainment world in the first three decades of the 20th Century. I still have some tapes to this day, with him singing so many great songs. I am sure that if some of you heard them played, you would recognize them right away, even if you did not know the artist.
The miles kept rolling by and I was doing very well. This was the benefit of all my cycling all around Edinburgh for many years before, on whatever old bike I happened to have at the time, which enhanced my endurance. Then came Darvel, Newmilns, and Galston heading towards the outskirts of Kilmarnock. I had an aunt who had lived there for many years, so there was no point in passing her door when I could have another wee cup of tea. She was quite surprised to see me and my cousin quickly told me how crazy I was for even attempting this ride. I wasn’t looking for a critique, all I wanted was a cup of tea!
I quickly got back on the road, and onto the last leg into Prestwick and Ayr. Finally, I was turning the corner into the area where my grandmother lived, in just a bit over five hours of cycling time. As always, Grandma made me very welcome and I am sure she thought that I would never stop eating at supper time.
Grandma did not have a telephone and I do not remember being concerned about calling home; after all, I said that I would cycle to Ayr and that is what I had done. I did go back down to the payphone and made the reverse-charge call home, probably much to my mother’s relief.
There was much discussion among the adults in the family as to whether I would get back on the bike and head home on Monday. My response was, of course, why not? I had made it here and so I could easily make it back home. When Monday arrived, I cheerfully got back on the bike and headed home. I have to admit the ride was much easier, as the wind blows pretty much constantly from west to east.
I did this journey at least three more times over the years. I took several different routes, but due to the wind, I never made it there in under five hours. On my last trip home though, I actually did it in three hours. My young sister was waiting at the bus stop when I turned the corner at Prestwick Toll, and I was home in the house in Edinburgh a good half an hour before her.
It was, all told, A Very Good Ride.
I often wondered why my parents never tried to oppose my planned ride, and discovered much later that my father had convinced my mother that I would be back within the hour. He obviously never knew his son!
