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After a good nights sleep, I got up feeling refreshed and re-energised for the final week of cycling. 

Calum and Andy Summers arrived at 9am, and after a quick photo session with the new larger team of seven (soon to be eight), we set off towards Crieff. Leaving from Milngavie we headed straight up to the Campsies, and I was immediately concerned as I discovered myself to be heading up a very large hill within the first half hour. Not having planned for it, I was half way along the line of cyclists and not at the back, so I had no option but to grit my teeth and go for it – there was no way I was going to stop and push in front of my new travel companions! I had the usual thigh burn that had been with me since day one, but the adrenalin kicked in and I think the afternoon off the day before had made a big difference. I kept up with the person in front of me, making it to the top without a single break. Success! I was beginning to like this cycling lark. 

We continued in to the Campsies and the views, once again, were stunning. It didn’t rain, and Bert and I made several stops to take photos, enjoying the rolling hills and leisurely pace. The day was advertised as 49 miles, so we knew it was going to be an easy day compared to most other days we’d endured so far. The boys stopped in Kippen for lunch and Andy turned back to Glasgow; Bert and I decided to keep on going so I could meet my best friend who lives in Dunblane. We cycled along fairly level roads, stopping for a break when Bert realised his cleats were loose on his shoes, which had probably led to some of his falls, and he tightened them up to make them more effective. We made good time and arrived in Dunblane early afternoon to buy steak pie from Bert’s favourite pie shop. We arrived at my friends house on the high street at the same time as Clare, and knowing we had such a short cycling day, we stayed for a couple of hours, catching up with the family. Clare was amazed that I was on a bike, remembering correctly that the last time I had been on a bike was as a young teenager on my BMX! When we finally left, she insisted on standing in the doorway to wave me off and to convince herself that I could actually ride a bike. She didn’t actually believe me until she saw me sit on the saddle and pedal away, then she whooped and hollered at me as I disappeared around the corner. 

The two of us continued along country lanes, stopping to admire some red kites (of the bird variety, not on a string) on the way. We even headed up a long straight uphill road, and I managed the hill without a problem, enjoying the speed down the other side. 

We got to Crieff and found the B&B we were staying in, which was lovely. Our room was so beautifully decorated and cosy that I could have stayed in it forever. Had a shower and hot chocolate while the rest of the boys had a sub-friendly in the pub where Arthur and Alan were staying next door. We soon got a phone call asking us to go and check out somewhere to eat, as they had decided the pub wouldn’t be a good location, so Bert and I headed into Crieff town centre to search out an appropriate venue. Everywhere was either closed or really expensive, so on our second circuit of the area we decided on an Italian that seemed to be reasonable. The other boys joined us and we had a lovely meal before heading back to the pub for last orders. 

I fell asleep quickly in the comfortable bed, but woke up within the hour to rush to the toilet. I spent the rest of the night with chronic D&V and didn’t sleep a jot, possibly due to some dodgy seafood that I’d had in my pasta dish. I was glad I wasn’t in a Youth Hostel, though a tad disappointed that my night of luxury was somewhat ruined. 

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I felt slightly better by the morning, so decided to risk a full English before heading out to cycle again. 

As we left the B&B, my dread of the very slight hill we were about to climb heightened, such was the negative anticipation of hills I had developed over the course of 16 days of them, but my dread was unfounded and I tackled the gentle slope up into Crieff with no problems. It was cold, but dry, and we made good time to Bankfoot and then Dunkeld, where we stopped for lunch in a cafe and did a quick BCQ. 

We had a lovely ride in the afternoon with good weather, and I was pleased for the first time on the trip to be ahead of Arthur and able to point him in the right direction. As we got closer to Pitlochry the views were beautiful, and I noticed it looks like a fairytale town nestled among the hills. It was like a dream sailing down the hill towards it, without rain, and we got to the youth hostel before it opened and sat outside waiting, whilst Bert asked the other hostellers whether they had their tickets ready. The boys had one room to themselves and I was across the hallway in a room of European girls, though they were still out when I arrived so I was able to settle in in peace. 

Once showered and organised I went to have a look around the hostel, and saw Alan with a new face I didn’t recognise, however he dashed passed me to the boys room without stopping to say hello. 

Alan later declared “I didn’t recognise you in clothes”. 

The new face was Robert, a chap from Northern Ireland who was joining us for the remainder of the trip, and Robert had come armed with delicious spaghetti bolognese (including a veggie version) and homemade trifle. What a treat!

Had a relaxing evening, although it was so unusual to have a whole evening that I didn’t really know what to do with myself. I realised that this was a glimpse of the usual kind of holiday the boys have – a reasonable length day of cycling followed by leisure time. I’d forgotten how to do ‘leisure’, and I wasn’t so shattered that I just wanted to sleep, so I watched a bit of telly before finding a game to play, which most of the boys joined in on. Calum was pleased to discover he’d missed it, having gone off to read his book in peace. 

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We left Pitlochry at about 9:30am (crazy days – late starts AND early finishes!) to set off in the rain and wind to Drumochter Pass. We paused briefly at Garry Bridge to do a BCQ, before heading along a stony, pebbly, gritty track that ran almost alongside the A9. The wind was strong and I struggled to keep up, feeling pretty tired with every wooden gateway and footbridge we had to pass through that were on bends and hills, and really slippy in the rain. I allowed myself to slow down, as it took me all my strength just to keep pedalling whilst shivering in the cold, and the boys had to wait for me as I caught up, braving the treacherous weather as they did so. We were really cold and wet by the top, and relieved to get to Dalwhinnie – apparently the coldest place in the UK - where there was a nice little tearoom. I sat with clothes, gloves and helmet dripping puddles of water on to the floor as I slowly thawed, eating a lovely warm lunch and hot drinks and purposefully forsaking the pre-bought sandwiches that had been intended to see us through the day. My cold, numb fingers felt slightly better when the owner of the café gave me £10 for my charity, and once again on this trip, an unexpected encouragement provided optimism for me to continue on the way! Calum’s brother, Angus, joined us here and would spend the rest of the day riding with us. After lunch, and a prolonged visit to the toilet where the hand-dryer provided some much needed warmth, the rain started to die out. We bumped in to Bob Yorke and his family at Ralia, and as we coasted along the country lanes my renewed burst of energy allowed me to put my foot down and cycle on ahead, enjoying the feeling of being out in the wild alone and earning me the name “Pink Lightning”, a step up in accolade from my previous name of “Penelope Pitstop”… 

Eventually we reached Newtonmore, and whilst cycling along chatting with Angus, I was suddenly distracted by a signpost indicating we were about to arrive at the Macpherson Museum! I babbled excitedly, until we arrived at said museum when I could contain myself no more and dived off my bike yelling at everybody that I would catch up with them. Bert caught on to my excitement, and convinced the boys to wait for me whilst I went in for a photo at the home of my clan.

I was delighted to discover that Angus and Calum were also of Macpherson descent, and that Angus had actually visited this very museum on his 21st birthday! We had a lovely ride down the B970 through picturesque mountains (Cairngorms) and woodland to Aviemore, a few of us die-hards stopping to do a BCQ along the way at Doune. I dropped back quite a bit as I kept stopping to take in the magnificent views and take photos of fields and lochs and animals in breathtaking scenes. The difference was that this was not due to a severe lack of fitness, but the beautiful scenery that assaulted me at every turn. 

Aviemore has a large hostel, but on arriving at my girls’ dorm to discover I was, once again, to be sharing with some European girls who spoke limited English, I dug my heels in and demanded a room for two with Bert. The arrival of the extra boys on the trip had emphasised for me the feeling of being a bit out of it, but Bert readily obliged me and left the boys dorm to share with me. We had a delicious meal made by Calum before heading off to a local pub for some evening drinks. 

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Woke up to a lovely sunny morning with blue skies, and was set up for the day with some of Calum’s left-over curry. Headed through Boat of Garten to Carrbridge, where we had tea and scones in a lovely little cafe. I still marvelled at these tearoom events, having gotten used to the 10-hour daily slog of England and Wales, and it was lush to be able to pause for scones with cream and hot chocolate after cycling for only an hour or so. 

After this re-fuel, we took a gentle ride up The Slochd followed by a gentle run down to the Clava Cairns – some prehistoric burial Cairns built about 4,000 years ago. Gentle seemed to be the order of the day. It was all very pleasant, and the lack of rain, and views all around felt very foreign to me, but so very welcome! 

It was still sunny as we left our sightseeing stop at the Cairns and headed to Culloden, where starting to get complacent, the boys made a very serious navigational mistake. As we cycled past the sign for the Culloden Battlefields off to the left, I assumed the boys had decided not to stop off to see it after spending so long at the Cairns. As we sailed down a long, straight and steep hill, that seemed to go on and on and on, it was great to clock up speed and see the miles ticking by, and exhilarating to feel the wind on my face. What I hadn’t realised as I relished this feeling, was that the, until now excellent navigators, had completely missed the sign I had been looking at, and in fact did still intend to visit said battlefield. 

After a mini-meeting at the bottom of the hill, and waving at the German cycle troupe as they went on by, it was (almost!) unanimously agreed to return to the site. I guess it was completely unanimous if you only counted the male opinions of the group. I kept my cool, and tagged on to the back of the line to circle around and head back uphill to the battlefields by a different, several mile long route, grumbling under my breath all the way! Hot chocolate with marshmallows and sumptuous cake went a little way in easing my upset, and I felt I deserved this unplanned fatty feast to ease my troubled brow. We then set off on foot to wander around a field in the bitingly cold wind and look at flags in the distance. We managed a BCQ in the middle of the field, which went a little way to appeasing me, though even this was unimpressive, so I shivered quietly and waited patiently to continue on our way. Battlefields must be a boy thing. 

It was an easy ride down to Inverness after this, back the way we came and then along a few roads until we stopped off at a supermarket for food. Whilst waiting for the shoppers, I happened to notice a post on facebook showing a cartoon of “Is this the real life, or just a Fanta (orange) Sea”, and ended up humming the great Queen epic to myself as the boys congregated ready for the final leg to the youth hostel. By the time we left the car park, there was a full-blown rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody going on, which seemed quite surreal as we navigated our way around roundabouts in the centre of Inverness in rush hour. 

Tonight my hostelling home was shared with a highly-strung, slightly neurotic lady; a European lady who was keen to announce her impending departure would be about 4am; and the two dear ladies we kept bumping in to who were doing LEJOG with their husbands on tandems!