2023 pictures

Davey & Edna

Jonny – Sealand kit

Ripley and Maui

Me (and Terri)

Jonny

Moody Ripley shot

Rides round Edinburgh

Laden bike for Bikepacking

A ride round Edinburgh

Forth bridge bike ride from Edinburgh

A moody bikepacking pictureHampton Karate clubAviemore rideout

A Chesington Dragon

Father’s Day walk out for the coin toss

Edinburgh to Glasgow – the start

The middle

Edinburgh to Glasgow – the end

Edinburgh to Glasgow (and beyond!)

Earlier in the year I went on a bikepacking trip from Aberdeen to Edinburgh with Davey. We had a great time even though the weather was a bit rubbish. After that I decided that a trip that was really flat, with no pesky mountains to climb would be good fun. So I decided to ride from Edinburgh to Glasgow on the canal. Sounds pretty flat to me! I’d cycled a bit of the route the year before, but now it was time to go all out on the 123km ride.

I spent a couple of days catching up with Davey and Hannah, which was nice – managed to snag a room in the University Halls, which meant huge buffet breakfasts to get some calories in.

Disappointingly, the day started out overcast, gloomy, and raining. Wasn’t going to stop me though, and I set off down the well maintained towpath by the side of the Union canal 

I’ve always had a wild urge to suddenly leap out at folk cycling down towpaths to see if they will cycle into the canal. Today I was reminded exactly how tenuous my grip on the path was every time I got to a bridge. Often cobbled, always narrow, and with the possibility of meeting someone coming the other way, I was very conscious that one slip would see my bike at the bottom of the canal.

There’s a couple of very dramatic aqueducts that take the canal over rivers far, far below.. the fact that I was clipped into my pedals a long way up had my heart racing.

 

  

Slowly the joggers, dog walkers and cyclists began to become scarce, and I settled into a nice easy rhythm. A bit late starting, but with plenty of time to get to my overnight stop. As you might expect, the canal was pretty level – in fact, the whole trip only had a 380m climb – and in the first day I didn’t actually encounter any locks (which would have meant something resembling a hill)… apart from the massively exciting Falkirk wheel.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Falkirk is quite a ride from Edinburgh – past quiet little villages, peaceful canal basins and the occasional fisherman. My route planning had suggested a shortcut past Broxburn, but I stuck to the canal itself and eventually sailed into Linlithgow, birthplace of Mary Queen of Scots and James V. Time for refreshments and a quick exploration of the town and the palace before getting back on the towpath… something which proved harder than you might think. How in heaven’s name can you LOSE a canal? Finally realising my mistake, next stop was Falkirk and the Wheel. Just before Falkirk is a tunnel – bedecked with fairy lights, it’s still a source of some concern to me (see ‘canal, falling in’).

Time for a brief stop to watch the wheel rising – I had hoped to visit the Kelpies on this trip, but it would have meant an hour’s detour from my route – that will have to be saved for next time. At Falkirk the Union canal ends, and I join the Forth and Clyde canal towpath.

And so onward – the canal is broader here, and settlements are few and far between, until slowly I reach the outskirts of Glasgow and Maryhill, my stop for the night.

The next morning I skip breakfast and set off on the final loop, taking me to the banks of the Clyde and the end of the canal at Bowling. I’d originally planned to just get to Glasgow, but with the end of the canal a mere 30km away, it would feel like I’d missed out. Despite being quite heavily populated, the canal towpath is still a peaceful haven, with the occasional jogger and group of walkers out enjoying a pleasant morning. I sail past a series of locks, recognising that I am going to have to climb those later.. I have hardly changed gear in 100km of riding.

And finally, into Bowling and the harbour and canal basin. Time now for coffee and breakfast under the old railway line.

I’d planned a riverside return to Glasgow, but in the end I decided that it would be far more pleasant to return along the canal side, back almost to my overnight stop (and back up beside those locks) before heading off down the Glasgow spur. This is definitely a suburban canal, yet still peaceful and quiet. And eventually I arrive into Speirs Wharf in Port Dundas. Here grain mills and stores have now become apartments and leisure facilities, but it’s still a very imposing building.

Just time now to ride into Glasgow and catch the train home. This has been a superb ride out, and I have loved every moment of it – I think it’s the sort of ride I would do again, one day soon.

The beauty of the Cosmos

Not all adventures have to be big and bold, or expensive.  Not all of them need travel and trains and flights. There’s lots of adventures and fun to be had without specialist equipment. And some of them can be done in your back garden.

I’ve been fascinated by space for longer than I care to remember – probably for ever, having grown up on Gerry Anderson, Star Wars, the moon landings  and more. I can remember visiting Jodrell Bank as a child and being in awe of the dishes and radio sets that reached into the distant beyond listening for clues to the nature of the Universe. (I’m amazed by the number of people who see space as fake, as impossible – what a limited world they live in). I’m continually wowed by images from Hubble and the James Webb Space Telescope as their sensors reach further and further into space – and, because of the finite speed of light, into the past. The nearest star we can see (beyond our own Sol)  is 4.25 light years away. We are seeing what happened over four years ago. As we go further, the distances get even more staggering – and so does the age of the light we see. And, amazing in all this complexity, it all holds together with a few simple processes. Gravity. Nuclear fusion. Start out with the basic building blocks of matter, and you can build anything. It’s like cosmic Lego.

My lounge is full of books by the experts in cosmology. Brian Cox. Michio Kaku. I have space atlases scattered around, and images of space on my screensaver. I can quite cheerfully sit out and look at the moon, the stars…and wonder and marvel.

All this is by preamble. For a while now I have been planning to get down to the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich for a display that has nothing to do with boats and ships, and everything to do with space. The Astronomy Photographer of the Year exhibition.

And it didn’t disappoint. Stunning images through telescopes and with camera lenses. True colour images and photographs adjusted to show hydrogen or oxygen peaks. Images of earth – images of the planets -  images of our own star, and images that reach out into the distance. Stars, planets, aurorae, galaxies, nebulae, all captured in beautiful and inspiring images. Images from scientists, photographers, amateurs and teenagers all jostle to draw us in to a Universe of magic and enchantment.

The pictures are all back lit in a darkened room, which adds to the depth and impact. I lost count of the number of times I went round, just amazed by what had ben captured.

It’s open til 13th August – if you get chance, go spend a couple of hours there. It’s gorgeous. And you can take a wander round the maritime museum itself, and also wonder at ‘The World Reimagined’ – an amazing and thought provoking outdoor display of globes commenting on the transatlantic slave trade. 

And, just because I could.. I took a trip across the Thames – first under the river bed in the Greenwich tunnel, which in all my years visiting and living in London, I have never done – and then by cable car, which is vaguely scary when it gets a bit windy….

Borders and Pennines–time to relax

So, following the intensity of the Aberdeen to Edinburgh Dundee ride, I booked myself into youth hostels to break the journey back down. First stop, Kirk Yetholm, an associate hotel just north of the border and the end of the Pennine Way – and start of the Scottish National Trail. Time to relax.

The mist had followed me down, but I wasn’t planning on cycling anyway – a mooch round Kelso and a cup of coffee back at the hostel were enough. I was somewhat disturbed by the presence in my room of a very lifelike toy otter though.

The following day, I set off on the drive down to Langdon Beck in Teesdale. I rejoined the A68, which is one of my favourite roads in the country.. almost unnaturally straight for the most part, with little hamlets and the most extraordinary hidden crests and dips, like a rollercoaster with added views.

Langdon Beck is almost unbelievably isolated though – miles from the nearest town and completely invisible to cellphone signals. Time to reflect, to dream, to plan.. and time to get back on the bike. A 12km ride (downhill all the way!) took me to Middleton in Teesdale for coffee and essential supplies. Rather than ride back up the same road, I crossed the Tees and rode back up through little farming villages  to eventually recross it at Low Force waterfall.

The next day I felt sufficiently recovered to set out on a big ride again – but the weather was having none of it. I got about 10k up the valley before deciding it wasn’t worth it.

The next day saw me back in the car and on the way home. Somewhere I had managed to lose the protective packing for my bike rack…so some creative packing was needed to prevent it destroying my paintwork!

Adventures over, and time to regroup for the next one. I wonder what I should do next?

Two men, two bikes, and a small dragon named Trevor

Or: Aberdeen to Edinburgh – the 2023 bikepacking adventure

So my eldest son Davey is a keen gravel biker – in fact he’s taking part in the Edinburgh to Manchester ride in June this year. I love cycling too, so it made sense that we make a holiday out of it. Last year we bike packed across Norfolk in a loop from Thetford to Gt Yarmouth and back. This time – Scotland and mountains.

I’d decided to upgrade my riding experience with a new bike so with a little expert advice from Davey I took delivery of a new Sonder gravel bike: the luggage necessary for the trip nearly didn’t make it, but I managed to assemble everything in time, and drove up to Edinburgh to set out on the train up to Aberdeen. I was accompanied on the journey by a small dragon that I’d been given.. but looking at the weather, I didn’t think the wee guy would survive, so he was left to guard the car.

We got off to a slow start – a valve failure in Davey’s bike meant that we had to visit a cycle shop before we could stat out – and meant that we had to check in on the way too just to make sure it was OK. But finally we got going, and set off down the Deeside path  A gentle enough start to the day, although it wasn’t long before we were climbing through pine forests. Logging operations forced us to turn round, and the uneven terrain soon had me adjusting my cycle pack to stop it rubbing on the rear tyre.

We realised we needed a detour to get more water, so having stuffed as many bottles into pockets and bags as we could, and knowing we were running late, we set off on the climb into the Cairngorms. Tarmac and hard packed gravel soon turned into loose scree and a rocky trail that was almost unrideable. We were heading for a valley between two peaks, with a pretty serious climb, but somewhere we took a wrong turning and instead of heading through the valley, we climbed one of the peaks instead. One in three slopes found us pushing the bikes across mist covered moorland – it wouldn’t have been so bad if we could actually see a view from the peak!

We reached the peak in daylight, giving thanks for the longer hours of summer daylight in Northern Scotland, but the surface was so poor we had to walk down the other side until we rejoined the original trail.. and even then it was tough going. Rather than risk falling off in the middle of a ford we carried the bikes round that as well – it felt like we’d walked more than cycled. And then night fell. The birds continued their fascinating chiroing and calling, adding texture and interest to the evening. Eventually, we cycled into the camp site and pitched tents. after 11 hours on the road. only then did I realise that the camping mat hadn’t made it into my bags. It was going to be an uncomfortable few nights…

The mist hadn’t cleared the next day, but at least the ride was a merciful downhill towards Arbroath. I rapidly became an expert on Scottish dry stone walling, as it was pretty much all we could see. Occasionally a herd of sheep or a cow or two would relieve the monotonous view.. although we were grateful it wasn’t actually raining. Some of the downhill runs were fabulous, and a gloriously flat seaside trail from Arbroath to Carnoustie had our spirits soaring – even if the overall effect was of cycling through a horror film set. Vacant playgrounds rose up from the mists, and ancient castles loomed large and menacing from the murk. Even the sea views were hidden by the haar (see mist).

Eventually we turned inland to the camp site, although a promised steep climb failed to materialise.. a blessing for tired legs  This was a more civilised camp site – with entertainment in the form of a guitar and bongos duo and running water on tap.

Rising the next day we decided it was time to call it a day. The mist and rain was making it hard work, and the lack of views to lift our spirits and create interest was just making the ride boring and dull. We resolved to ride to Dundee and catch the train. Disappointment heaped on disappointment when we found the doughnut shop was closed.

So, we failed to make it to our destination, but we had done a god bit of riding, tested our kit out, and spent some time together. To my mind that counts as a win.

So, two men, two bikes, two tents, one sleeping , mat, no tiny dragon named Trevor, and a ride from Aberdeen to Edinburgh Dundee. Time for a few days to rest my legs…but that’s another story.

Ripley says… Happy New Year!

Hello. My name is Ripley an’ I am a broken haired lurcher. I live in England with my Daddy. I’m only five but I have learned one or two things about life an’ I wanted to share them with you. My friend Timmy runs this blog an’ he let me borrow it for a bit.

Have a great year!

---

Ripley’s life lessons . . .

Live your own style

Take time to enjoy the scenery.

Life will sometimes bring you strange bedfellows.
Embrace them.

Enjoy seeing new places.

Ignore your critics

Always check your friends want to play before bouncin’ all over them.

Follow your own path. It confuses people.

Always live hopeful.

Make sure you get enough chill time.

Be ready to drop everything to go on a ‘venture with a friend.

Be polite

Explore everything.

Share a laugh with people you love.

Have fun.

Maintain your boundaries.

Get plenty of exercise . . .

…but know when to stop.

Always have that one special friend you can be yourself with.

Talk to animals. ‘specially dogs.

Did I mention getting’ enough chill time?

It’s OK to get a little muddy sometimes. It’ll wash off and you may end up smellin’ of raspberries.

Don’t worry what others think about you.

Make sure you have somewhere you can feel safe, secure an’ comf’table.

Learn to listen to good advice

If you’re not sure what to do next, have a sit down and listen to what your heart is tellin’ you.

Sometimes, you just need coffee.

If it makes you feel good, do it. Even if other folks don’t understand.

Always be ready to go for a walk in the countryside.

Make lots of time for relaxin’ with a friend.

Eat good food.

Devour good books.

Take an active int’rest in other people’s work.

Sometimes, the only thing to do is to just tune out and let the world go by.

Sometimes, the only thing to do is to just tune out and let the world go by.

Remember . . .You be you.

And remember to enjoy the journey . . .

2022 memories

Just a few pictures from an interesting 2021 . . . apologies if there seems to be a lot of pictures of Ripley..again.

So. Many. Hills.

Today was the big one. The day to really push the envelope, and hopefully not push the bike. I’ve been in South Skye so far, but I really wanted to push up to the north, and set my sights on Portree. But just cycling up there would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

So as well as cycling up the coast to Portree on the east coast, I added in an extra loop to the west coast as well. Crazy, I know. Portree is the main town and port on Skye, so it made sense to get up there.. but I was pretty certain there was lots to see and experience on the way!

The nagging puncture seemed to have calmed down, so I set off north with a spring in my step. When you’re cycling out and back you tend to take note of the hills… ‘that’ll be nice to come back down’ and ‘not looking forward to that on the way back’. You’d think that a coastal path would make life easy, but the geography of Skye had other plans! Northern Skye is volcano territory, long extinct, but the towering caldera pepper the skyline, the clouds sometimes forming a teddy boy’s quiff over the edge, at other times a badly fitting toupee.

I made my way over the first hill, past the desolate island of Scalpay, and over the headland to a welcome descent into Sligachan and the old bridge. Which is where I turned inland, headed for the west coast. Autumn seems a superb time to visit – the summer crowds have disappeared, as have the midges, and the roads are quiet. Autumn colours are vivid browns, with heather holding on to its colour while bracken and fern – and trees – create a stunning palette of browns and oranges. I cross miles of peat, the hedgerows of broom and gorse.

A slow climb leads to a drop into Struan harbour – I am briefly tempted by a trip to the Talisker distillery. Wiay island sits out in the bay but I turn inland, headed for Portree at last. These are narrow lanes, impassable in winter. I find a new hazard – cowpats. Although the cows are relaxed and calm as I pass, the sheep are skittish and can’t be trusted not to run in front of me.

Finally, I drop into Portree. Nothing much to write home about, but time for coffee and a sandwich. I have ridden 60km. A trip to the isle of Raasay (more distilleries) tempts me but it is a bit late now.. and as I ascend the long steep climb out, the nagging puncture finally makes itself known in no uncertain terms. I stop by the side of the road and attempt a repair, but the patches aren’t sticking. I replace the tube, and cycle on.

The hills are calmer now, and I realise that my hostel isn’t quite as far as the route tells me. I cycle gratefully up… my legs ache and I wish I had remembered the padded shorts. I make this 105km. Which I think is my longest single day ride ever.

I have managed so far without incident.. until today. I cycled up on to a pavement in search of dinner, but forgot (come on, I have just cycled 60+ miles) the requisite bunnyhop to hop onto the kerb. Net result, the bike stopped dead, and I toppled gently into the gutter. #novideoeveidence

This is the last day on Skye – tomorrow I must cycle across the bridge… and away.

Skye’s the limit . .

I’d suffered from deflating tyres on the way over to Broadford, so I resigned myself to having to fix that.. but in turns out that the Slime in the tyres had done its job so I set off on the first of my little rides out – a straightforward 50km out and back to Elgol. My ride the previous day hadn’t really prepared me for what was in store. Absolutely unbelievably stunning scenery that kept me on the edge of tears all day. The first 15km was fairly straightforward in the shadow of the Cuillin hills, and it descended gently into Loch Eishort and Loch Slapin, both estuaries into the Atlantic and with the island of Rùm glinting across the water. A food van was plying its trade on the banks of the water and it would seem rude to cycle past without a breakfast roll and a cup of tea.

Thus fortified, I began the climb up towards Elgol. Alternating between wild downhills and tough climbs, I finally made it past the sheep and cattle that littered the road and into Elgol (more properly Ealaghol – it does seem rude that we have anglicised the original Gaelic place names). The village proper is at the top of a hill (the word ‘hill’ does not really do justice to the brake-shredding descent to the harbour below). But down the hill I went, recognising that the brake-shredding on the way down was going to do serious damage to my legs on the way back up.

The harbour was offering trips across the water to Loch Curuisk and to the Small Isles, but I was content to just gaze out across Loch Scavaig and to the Black Cuillin over the water, just in awe of how beautifully tranquil this spot was.

Eventually the ride back had to be faced. I made it half way up before I had to surrender.. I think the locals were watching to see how far I made it. Apparently ‘to the cattle grid’ is good performance. The return trip seemed gentler than outbound, although as my tour had made special note of the Blue Shed café (now, bizarrely, purple) it was essential that I stopped off for coffee and cake before gently finishing my trip off and coasting into Broadford (apparently ‘Broadford’ is a more original transliteration of the original Norse ‘Breiðafjorðr’ than the Gaelic An t-Àth Leathann).

Soup and a roll finished my day off.. tired and happy again. This trip is turning out to more than exceed my expectations. I wonder what tomorrow will bring.

All points west!

Up early the next day for a morning ride round the other side of the loch. The part of me that needs to ride a different way back was going to be frustrated – this is a sea loch, and there’s no way to go all the way round it without a boat. But I did manage to find a nice bit of mountain biking trail on the way back, which I took with some alacrity as I realised I may not have left enough time to get to the train.

I needn’t have worried. Plenty of time to get to the station and then off on another adventure into mountains moors and lochs, This is scenery so stunning that you can’t afford to miss a moment. I was only a little distracted by the family with a slightly nervous huskie who needed a little bit of fuss so she felt better about being on a train.. This is a world of single track railways and tiny stations, of deep, dark forests falling away from railway lines that cling to hillsides in defiance of gravity. This is a world of railway viaducts that the Hogwarts Express would have thundered over, of grass only just hanging on the rock and stone. This is a world of towering hills, of peaty rivers and mossy banks.  A world where buzzards soar above it all, and red deer explode from the brush to hurtle across the moorland. This is a world that defies description, but can only be truly understood in person.

And that brought me to Mallaig. I could have rushed straight onto the ferry, but instead I opted for a little jaunt round the village, whose only real existence, beyond some fishing boats, is as the ferry terminus for Skye.

And forty-five minutes after leaving Mallaig I was in Armadale on the Isle of Skye.. and another dream was coming true. Just another 25km and a couple of steep climbs later, and I was in a youth hostel in Broadford, my home for three nights. Where, much to my surprise, and, it has to be said, the embarrassment of the proprietor, the fish and chip shop (in a fishing village) had run out of haddock.