This 600k DIY ride marks the cumulation of my Audaxing career.
It is the cumulation of 10 consecutive years of SR series (200, 300, 400, 600k in a season), and induction into the Hall of Lunacy that is the Ultra Randonneur.
My journey along the Moray Firth coast is also a journey into my own past.
Approaching Macduff, I pass Tarlair Swimming Pool; a sea-water pool which sported a 5m diving board in the day. It is now in a state of mostly-ruin. Somewhere, there is a black-and-white photo of a teenage Ron diving off this 5m board, into the icy pool. I had been persuaded into this folly For Art, as part of the school photography club we were in. You need to suffer for your art, and apparently, I was the one who needed to do the suffering.
Through Macduff, I pass what was once the newsagents shop my parents ran; the shop is no more, but the flat above it looks unchanged. I glance up at what had once been my bedroom window, with a view over what was then a busy fishing harbour and fishmarket. Then the boatyard, where my maternal grandfather had worked as a boatbuilder, crafting the wooden boats that plied these costal waters. In his day, there was no boat-shed; it was hard outdoor work all year round.
On through Banff, the place I went to school. I do not have time to stop at my mum's for a chat; for I am against the clock. That will no doubt be Noted on My Card when it comes to it. But hey, it will pale into insignificance against all my other malfeasances!
The back roads to Portsoy and beyond are well-known to me from all those years ago.
I reach Burghead, where I went to primary school. I do not go into the village itself, rather heading towards Kinloss, passing the football pitch where we held the school sports day. This triggers a powerfull memory from long ago, a small Ron laying in the sun with the smell of freshly-cut grass filling his nostrils. In Roseisle forest, somewhere there is a clearing with three trees, one with my name on it: my parents took us all to plant saplings in this place when we were very small.
Day two is a journey into my more recent past; into the lands around Montrose.
Entering Montrose, I see the derricks of my former workplace still standing; somewhat forlorn and derelict against the sky. The orange paint is faded and peeling, giving way to the orange of rust and decay beneath. I was probably the last person to operate these; and as best I could see, the moving parts were exactly where I had left them when I shut them down and turned my back on them and walked away all those years ago. No longer a source of work or value; just a pair of hulking twins, rusting pieces of industrial archaeology.
No ride report is complete without a cafe recommendation, so today I'm going to go with Joinery cafe in Meigle. A well-known coffee stop for local riders, it always hits the spot, and today was no exception.
Kirriemuir is of course made entirely of hills, and will cheerfully remind you of this at every opportunity.
"Isn't this where I came in?"
In a curious quirk of fate, the final leg out of Kirrie on this significant-for-me Audax follows in the wheel-tracks of the first leg of my first Audax some 11 years ago; the Snow Roads 300. This is not lost on me.
I reach home, and un-clip on the driveway. I swing a rather stiff leg over the saddle, which fails to clear the rack pack. I go down on the chuckie stones like a sack of tatties, the bike on top of me.
An ignominious end to a glorious ride! That'll learn me.
https://www.strava.com/activities/5419891068That's all, folks.
Normal service will be resumes as soon as possible.