The Grand Tour: Fife and Beyond

Ramblings of an inveterate cyclist

 This morning the skies were cloudless and as blue as mermaids eyes, (well as blue as any mermaids eyes I have ever seen). So it was out with the tricycle, just the day for it, well that was before I found out how strong the wind was.

I headed west into the wind, always best, no point in trying to beat your way home on tired legs. Strathkinness, Knock Hill, the summit a bit of a breather, but no I had to honk down, the hill too. normally I would see the speedo doing handsprings down this steep bank. I turned onto the road for Pitscottie, someone had misjudged the corner and taken out part of the bridge parapet. Into the little glen now and at last shelter from that nasty old wind.

I love this little den, more so on days such as this, with dappled sunlight dancing in front of your wheels. Ceres Burn was running high so I stopped at the waterfall just before Pitscottie to take pictures of the falls with its little fairy pool. Yes, I know I’m just an old romantic.

It had been a while since I had been out on my tricycle and I had a few squeaky bums moments as a rear-wheel lifted into a fast corner, Ops, I forgot it dose that.

At Pitscottie some cyclists were lounging on the wall outside the cycle shop, instantly they were alert,

“What the hell is that?” well of course it’s Walter on ‘Bullfrog’.

I call my tricycle ‘Bullfrog’ ,

Bullfrog number 111,

Why do I call it ‘Bullfrog’,

Well, she is just an Old Crock,

Like me.

At the top of the hill out of Pitscottie I thought I might be able to rest awhile, down the long downhill stretch into Cupar, but no if anything the wind was stranger up here, strong enough to buffet the trik, something rotten.

In Cupar, I choose to stop in at Lidl, buy something nice for tea. I came out with a the shopping bag full of goodies, so much so that I had everything that had been in my pannier, either on me or, or stuffing it in my pockets, to make room for the shopping. However I did get some real Scottish rolls, the only place I know where you can get them locally, and if you are lucky, as I was today, some crispy ones.

Once-upon-a-time, there were numerous baker shops that made their own bread and cakes. One in Lochgelly made only Scottish rolls. The bakers worked through the night and when coming home from the dancing we would call in and get the first batch out of the oven, just the smell of them was mouthwatering.

I just loved the journey home. OK, I was not running before the wind, it was more of a crosswind, but still very strong, strong enough for light pedals all the way home and never below 25K, not bad for two old crocks.

Keep safe.

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