Here comes the autumn

It had been a couple of weekends since we'd got out of town - together at least. The wind was blowing and the sun wasn't shining particularly but we both agreed that it was time for a beach run. 

We had coffee and scones from the village coffee house and then set out - late as usual - for a canter around the Gullane territories to see what was there.

Peter was bemoaning the absence of butterflies - all flown on to a better world presumably - and also telling me about a proposed trip next year with a butterfly enthusiast friend to Dunkeld to see - I don't know - something - pearl bordered fritillaries possibly. (Sound like little omelettes). There was some suggestion that I might like to drive.

My first thoughts were that I didn't want to drive. But I was drawn by the idea of what a good documentary it would make. 30 minutes - not too long - the preamble to the hunt for the pearl-bordered fritillaries, action sequences in the middle in which they do or do not find them, and then closing sequences...the two of them round a campfire, still talking endlessly and with enthusiasm about "lepidoptera" as the camera draws back to reveal the moon and stars twinkling in the background. Hmmmm.

 There was a definite autumnal feel - lots of mushrooms, grey skies, dropped leaves and grasses changing colour.

My legs were still stiff from doing the half marathon distance on Wednesday. I hoped an hour's run or so would ease them off but by night time they were worse. What could we do on Sunday that would get us outside but not make my legs worse still? It was forecast for the wind to blow even harder. It popped into my head that maybe it would be good - or at least interesting - to go and do the 23 mile route we do in the Lammermuirs, but on mountain-bikes. Some of it would be fine - some of it would be testing - there are some very steep uphills on gravelly paths that I thought might be a bit much - and the last thing I wanted to do was make injuries flare up - so I adopted a "no heroics" policy.

We set off late as usual, putting the bikes in the car. As we arrived at the Hopes Reservoir carpark there was quite a lot of un-forecast rain thrashing down noisily on the roof. We hid in the car for a little while. I told Peter we didn't have to do it, but he said we did - so as soon as it blew over we set off.

Initially the wind was pretty much square in our faces and I don't think either of us felt very hopeful about what lay ahead. I had to get off at the first really steep hill about 2 miles in. Down in my lowest gears I couldn't generate enough forward motion to get going again so I just had to push my bike up the hill. Peter managed to keep going all the way. I pretended I thought he'd got off his bike and had to push just to hear him in full song. Haha. After this, things got more do-able, the gradients eased, as we flew down the road towards Carfraemill we got onto a lovely smooth section of tarmac. What a delight! It was a bit of reprieve from the constant rattling.

We were going to stop at Carfraemill and have a coffee and some shortbread - and I had brought a bike lock to that end - but then I realised although I had the lock, the key was on my housekeys, which were back in the car. To hell!!! It was probably just as well. I was a bit intimidated by the return stretch through Glenburnie etc. I didn't know how my mtb skillz would hold up.

Actually it all went quite well. There was plenty to focus on - deep mud, large gravel chunks, quite a few water crossings. They were challenging but then that took my mind off how much effort it all was. All the water crossings went well until I crossed one that had slimy green stones under the water. I didn't slide but I thought about it, lost my nerve and put my foot down - in a foot of water. Peter came across behind, mansplaining what I'd done for me, but I already knew what I'd done. Like climbing, a lot of it's a mental game.

Coming down the last 4 or so miles was great fun and a bit frightening. They were steep downhills and control could be lost. I'd get scared, get on my brakes too hard - which can set off a whole lot of new problems - take a deep breath and let go, over and over. Buchanan was enjoying himself thoroughly and shot down the hills with no apparent fear. Getting back to the car we were both wind-battered and exhausted from the effort and the concentration. 

Good game.