Scotland 2025 Day 1 - Pie eyed!

Well thats it. We’re off!  We’ve just joined the train for the 8 plus hours travel from York to Fort William. Then 2 weeks and 600 miles of riding ahead of us through the Scottish mountains and forever rain. Taking ferries for the jaunt out to and up the Outer Hebrides. Then back into the back of beyond, across high gravel mountain passes before following the more tourist friendly routes back down to Edinburgh and finishing in Carlisle.

For sure it will be impossible to avoid all of life’s challenges in this part of the world. And that includes only having one change of underpants for the whole journey. No problem! This is how you do it….

Firstly wear the first pair day one the right way around. Day 2 the wrong way around. Then inside out right way around, then inside out wrong way around. Then same again with the next pair. So I’ve got 8 days before I need to find a laundrette or I’ll end up in the gravel. 😬

Me and Brad the Lad are on some mad fangled modern non bike friendly train for the journey north. I really did not enjoy playing Tetris with the bike trying to fold it into the metal hanging lockers on the ‘a-zoom-a’ train. It’s fast at everything except getting bikes stored. I’m currently sat trying to eat a plastic British Rail style bacon puck of a thing whilst doing a great job of smearing the tomato sauce lipstick like across my cheek and pressing a rather harsh storm fouled sloshy coffee to my ear’ole as we bounce along on what must be Railtracks best version of a mad mountain bike ride.

There is something exciting about setting off on another cycling adventure. After the planning back in January, well, today has come around in a flash. I know I can eat food quickly (but not like my brother with his tortoise like bite swallow bite swallow method of devouring calories). However I would have choked on the calendar if I’d tried to eat the days as fast as their passing. Was it not just yesterday when I proclaimed in the Blog that we had passed the winter equinox and so were back on our way towards summer? Wow! Where have the days gone?

A few folk have commented to me about the madness of such ventures; looking me squarely in my plastic eye with a ‘yer doing what?’ mad quizzical look on their high browed wide mouthed tilted heads. Yes. 600 miles. Yes. Scottish mountains. Yes, I’m 62. Yes. Yes. Correct.

I never thought of myself as an excessive person - except when it came to eating yorkshire puddings - or pies. I need little reason to shove a pie in my pie hole and damn the consequences. For example the other day, in an attempt to cure a high speed bike bonking session, I jack knifed on my emergency pork pie and almost choked - very much like this.

Notwithstanding that little faux-pastie I’m happy to say that a pie a day is my way to keep the bonks away. Ahem. Yes. For sure it works cos ive been single for the last 6 years. However it’s not all good news. My annual cholesterol report notes that there is more pork in my veins than blood. 

Well, who knew that me and Jesus had a lot in common? Its true. I did go to Sunday school a little bit you know - where I kinda learnt about the importance of pie…

I recall that according to Luke, Jesus spent forty days in the wilderness. I look out the train window as I write. We are now in Scotland. Same thing really…

Anyway, there he was tempted by Satan . You know, that bloke who owns the fried pie shop in Stornoway. One of Satan's challenges to Jesus was, “If you are the Son of God, command this fried pie to become bread.” Yes it was. Funnily enough I often answer similar challenges in a similar fashion to what Jesus said. That: “It is written that ‘Man shall live on fried pies alone”. Followed by “Man doth not live by bread only, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the Lord.” And cos God talked a-lot about loving pies well yes, being somewhat religious now, I regularly eat them. 

My last ride from Blackpool to York in prep for this year’s adventure included 2 pub stops. The first was in Blackburn at the Stone Masons Arms in the middle of a council estate which presented me with their attempt at a pie; a concrete shell of a thing which for sure should never be tackled by anyone with false teeth. Filled again with white hot lava bereft of any of the meaty goodness one might expect. Served as it happens with a measly portion of chips and peas - cos the kitchen had run out of the stuff at 6pm on a Saturday night. Gah!  

Followed the next night by a significantly better home made pie in the Brown Cow in Bingley - who’s name kinda describes what should be found in one. From all my samplings so far then, even though the Brown Cow is in Bingley, I would nonetheless recommend it for good pie. 

My excesses with pies is only beaten by my excesses when riding a bike. Pie eating and bike riding are my Yin and Yang. It best describes the fundamental duality of my universe. One just cannot exist without the other. Interestingly, whilst I am using a Taoist concept to explain my reality, it is not possible to order a steak and ale pie in a Chinese restaurant and believe me I have tried. 

However, right here right now my cycling addiction has made me pie eyed. I am drunk on the brown stuff as if drowning in a meaty warm pie gravy. I’m singing heartily with my arms wrapped tight around a big empty pie tin as though lost in an Oktoberfest Bier Keller. Singing slurrily with the ‘oompah band’ as I wearily pour another helping of the light shortcrust pastry, meat and gravy combo down my throat. Followed later by fat wobbles on my fat bike whilst happily riding home. 

Tomorrow morning London Alan arrives having taken the sleeper train from Euston to Fort William. That’s somewhat of an oxymoron isn’t it? No, no. I’m writing about sleeping on a train on the UKs potholed railway network - not London Alan! Clickity clack bang rumble rumble thump clickity clack clickity clack is what I’m expecting London Alan to be repeating all Tourette like when we meet him tomorrow bleary eyed off of the train. He’s gonna try whiskey tonight to help him sleep - which unless he’s taking a litre of it intravenously means I fear we will be carrying his dead tired body draped across his handlebars to the Fort Williams pie shops in the morning on our pre ride tasting session. I’m hoping to find a good bottle of the scotch pie good stuff to get drunk on whilst here.

David the Gentle Giant then arrives about 4 pm with his throat full of rich Glaswegian cream and the riding starts proper like on Sunday. 

I canna wait to smother his voice on a punnet of strawberries…

…Or an apple pie 😋👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

Ciao for now

PS

Tomorrow I will tell the story of the Swiss countess who rode with us on the stopper train from Glasgow to Fort William… Apparently, she doesn’t like Fray Bentos 😕