It didn't take me long to figure out that I'm not Lance Armstrong (and that wasn't because I don't have Sheryl Crow as a girlfriend).
Having invested in a (second-hand) bicycle recently, I've been putting my pedalling skills (or lack there-of) to good use. Whenever the weather holds up during weekends, I try and head out for an 'expedition'. If anything, these outings remind me of my creeping age, slowing body, and fast-disappearing stamina.
The first trip was within Edinburgh itself along the 'Water of Leith'. I always rue the fact that...
It didn't take me long to figure out that I'm not Lance Armstrong (and that wasn't because I don't have Sheryl Crow as a girlfriend).
Having invested in a (second-hand) bicycle recently, I've been putting my pedalling skills (or lack there-of) to good use. Whenever the weather holds up during weekends, I try and head out for an 'expedition'. If anything, these outings remind me of my creeping age, slowing body, and fast-disappearing stamina.
The first trip was within Edinburgh itself along the 'Water of Leith'. I always rue the fact that E'burgh is in some senses a very un-European city - it doesn't have a tram system (one is under construction, by the way) and that it lacks a river with beautiful bridges. The closest thing we have to a river is the 'Water of Leith' which Carl Lewis wouldn't have problems in clearing at most places. But there does run a walking/cycling path along this 'Water of Leith' and I decided to make full use of it to lose my 'cycling-in-edinburgh' virginity. The 'Water' runs at a slightly lower level than the town, so it seems rather well-hidden behind buildings and parks and has its own versions of mini gorges and ravines. The path mostly runs along the 'Water' though at places it moves away from the 'Water' and one wrong-turn can land one in a totally different direction. I had to swallow my manly pride a couple of times and ask the way - but that was, I reasoned, part of the adventure. I covered about 6 X 2 miles that day and the next morning my body protested in more ways than one.
A couple of weeks later, after my energy and courage were replenished, I decided to embark on the next trip. This was slightly out of town - from Edinburgh to South Queesnferry (for the pedantic, there IS a North Queensferry too - across the Firth of Forth which flows into the North Sea). South Queensferry, 10 miles from Edinburgh city centre, has a pretty continental village-like ambience complete with cafes and quaint bookshops. One particular second-hand bookshop, where you paid whatever you felt like for books, was run by an extremely old woman with a pirate-like eye patch - she didn't have a parrot on her shoulder instead she was accompanied by a huge but thankfully docile dog. After having bought a couple of books (and probably paid more than I normally would have), I exited the shop to the out-of-tune melody of a bagpipe. It was a wedding party that was arriving - in vintage cars. It was interesting to see all of a wedding party in skirts! Queensferry is also known for the 'Hawes Inn' made famous by R.L. Stevenson as the location where David Balfour was 'Kidnapped'. After hanging around for a while, and having successfully evaded kidnappers, I headed towards the Forth Road Bridge (which is open to vehicular traffic). From there one gets spectacular views of Edinburgh and the Forth Rail Bridge. Apparently, painting the bridge is a never ending task - by the time one finishes, it's time to restart. I topped up this tiring journey by a surprisingly nice Indian meal in a restaurant - yes, we're slowly taking over their culinary habits!
A third 'expedition' (last week) was along the coast north of Edinburgh for which we took the train to Kirkaldy in Fife. Unfortunately, trains here have limited spaces to keep bicycles - my friend had got on the train at the stop before mine and called me to tell me that all the 'bicycle spaces' were taken. I decided to do the Indian thing and get on the train irrespective of whether I was allowed on or not. As the train approached the platform, I deftly maneouvred myself onto the spot where the carriage with the cycle spaces would stop. As I got on the train, I saw from the corner of my eye that the guard (TT) had spied me getting on with the bicycle. I was quite sure that he would ask me to get off. After the train doors shut, it didn't move - one minute passed - two passed - and by now I was sure that the guard was making his way towards me to ask me get off the train. Sweating with nervousness, I braced myself for a Gandhi-at-Pietermaritzburg moment. Fortunately, no such thing happened and the train left the platform with me on board. Much relieved, I enjoyed the scenery (even though it is all the same - yellowing rape-seed fields, sheep, cows, and greenery that hurts the eye). Forty minutes later we found ourselves in Kirkaldy - a town like any other - with beautiful flowers, quaint houses ('hooses'), and a pedestrianised town centre with the usual Waterstones, WH Smith, Boots, and Superdrug. We were spoilt for choice for our pre-journey visit to the loo - McDonalds or Marks and Spencer - naturally, we erred against the side of fast-food consumerism.
Till now the clouds had sided with us by being absent, but the moment we got on our bikes, it started drizzing. Naturally, I can't explain the wet fear and trepidition that crept into our hearts. However, fortune and dry skies favoured us intrepid cyclists and the skies cleared in about 10 minutes and then it remained sunny for the rest of the day (some kind of record for Scotland, I'm sure). The 'Fife Coastal route' runs from St. Andrews to Edinburgh and as the name implies, the sea is never far away. Running parallel to it is the 'Fife Coastal Path' which is meant for walkers. And the rail track also runs along side the 'route' and the 'path'. So sometimes the train track is next to the coast, sometimes the 'Path' (for vehicles) and sometimes the 'Route' (for vehicles). We flitted between the 'Path' and the 'route' as we made our way towards Edinburgh. It somehow seemed that we always made the wrong decision as whenever we went on the path it was either too narrow to cycle on, or too steep. So we ended up walking - or carrying our bicycles over steps. One stretch saw us on the beach where the tires refused to budge - and this was immediately followed by an extremely steep flight of stairs where we had to lug our precious equipment (I'm talking about the bicycles!) on our shoulders. As we breathlessly reached the top, devoid of any energy to carry on, we were rewarded by a neat downhill stretch of two miles where we didn't have to pedal even once. What the God Taketh, he giveth back!
One one such narrow stretch there was a family in front of us - they were being trailed by their young daughter (about 3-4 years old - complete with pink jeans, a pink jacket, pink shoes, pink helmet, and a pink bicycle with pink fluffy ribbons hanging from the pink handles). I patiently waited for her to give me way. I even rang the wee bell I have on bicycle for precisely such eventualities (being blocked by tiny girls in pink!). But she didn't budge and kept on furiously pedalling - and I kept on cycling behind her in slow-motion. Her parents noticed my predicament and told the little one to give me way. As I overtook her and smiled at her, she gave me the most disgusted look of 'how dare you overtake me'.
Apart from that, we had few noteworthy encounters. There were plenty of sheep, horses, small towns, yatches, ruins and green fields that broke the beautiful monotony of the journey. The most common sight was that of a walkers with their dogs - they (the owners) are now required to clean up after their canine pets. So they all have an abundance of plastic bags (full of, or awaiting, poop) in their hands.
Near Aberdour castle was the sign for St. Fillans church that proudly proclaimed that 'This 12th century church is open to visitors'. The church was small and had no 'Pieta' or 'Last Supper' or a Sistinesque ceiling but it did have an indescribabe charm to it. It was perhaps a combination of its compactness and the fact that one could smell the history of a few centuries in its interiors. Reluctantly we continued our journey.
After covering about 12-13 miles, we decided to take the train at Inverkeithing. The platform had an unusual number of cyclists waiting to board the train - same story different station. Fortunately there were two trains in quick succession to Edinburgh. So with a bit of clever Desi maneouvring, I did manage to get my bike onto the train. And thus ended the third of my cycling adventures.
