A mysterious clicking noise
Perth to Inverness, 12th - 15th August
After a welcome night in a warm bed in Stirling, I was off to Perth by train in the morning to compensate for having cycled south with my friend yesterday. I had just a brief glimpse of the city centre before following the River Tay (Scotland’s longest) out north. I'd be following Cycle Route 77 north up to Pitlochry, where I'd be back on Route 7 all the way to Inverness. Route 77 was quite nice too, with quiet paths and greenery, and I encountered a family of French long distance cyclists coming the other way who stopped for a chat. It was a couple with two small children, and they'd been cycling for the past five months but were soon to finish their journey in Edinburgh the next day. Presumably they'd been doing school on the road - that's something I've never seen before.
On my way north, I passed through the village of Birnam (as in Birnam Wood from Macbeth), which had a delightful community art centre including a library, a cafe, and an exhibition about Beatrix Potter. I stayed a while for a break and a phone charge, and as I was leaving I was approached by a man wearing a bike t-shirt. He runs day trip bike tours for tourists out of Perth, where he lives, and advised me that if I was going to Pitlochry it would be more scenic to take the old bike route rather than continuing on the 77 along the next loch. After a brief check that it wouldn't be crazy elevation I happily accepted his advice, and he was right: it was more fun looking down on the main road from above than to be level with it. He did neglect to mention the stretches on pavement next to loud A-road, but I'll forgive that for the variety.
I also stopped in Dunkeld on my way up to borrow a quick link tool from a bike shop for a thorough chain cleaning. I figured it was about time that I took my chain off and gave it a good clean from all the trail dirt and muck. The mechanic/manager at the bike shop was friendly despite being busy with the summer tourist rush, and he happily let me borrow the quick link tool, some degreaser, and a powerful hose in the corner. Hands covered in black grease, I was also very thankful for the chance to wash them properly after (especially after I embarrassingly had to do it a second time after the chain fell off). Strangely, pedalling after that seemed to have an extra clicking sound which I couldn't figure out. Perhaps I just needed more lubricant, or that's what a clean chain was meant to sound like? Spoilers: no, but I wouldn't figure it out for a while.
Reaching Pitlochry was a bit disappointing. The town was very touristy with the Edinburgh Woolen Mill, The Christmas Emporium (in August), The Scottish Shop and countless other gift shops, clothes shops, and hotels. There was a big Co-op though, and I took the opportunity to stock up before quickly moving on to find a nice camping spot just up the road next to Loch Faskally.
In the morning, after a brief return to Pitlochry's Co-op (for there would be no shops for about 70km), I was back on the road the next day following a river valley up through the hills. This would take me over the Drumlochter Pass, a 462-metre pass with a lot of serious signage about it being the highest point on the National Cycle Network in Scotland. It also officially marked my entrance into the Highland region - exciting stuff! From there, I made a quick stop in the small village of Dalwhinnie for some water, just catching the village cafe before 5pm closing time, and carried on north.
It was around the Drumlochter Pass that I finally realised what was wrong with my chain. I had been periodically stopping all day to fiddle with it: turning the derailleur barrel adjusters, lubricating, listening. In the end, the problem was very simple - when putting the chain on, I had taken it around a piece of metal it was supposed to go under, so it was continuously rubbing it. It wouldn't have been too hard to take off and fix, but I didn't want to get grease all over my hands (and the plaster on my left palm) so I figured it could wait until the next bike shop, where I could use their sink to wash my hands properly afterwards with abrasive degreasing soap. I wouldn't have to wait long, either, with the next bike shop just 22km from Dalwhinnie - I'd go in the morning.
The next village, Newtonmore, seemed like a promising spot to camp, and I spent a good half an hour walking around the river to determine what the ideal location would be. In the end, I had to carry my bike over a stile, which was difficult even without the panniers, but it was worth it for the camping spot. Right on the river, well out of sight, and with a warm evening sun to dry me after I washed myself and my clothes. I was next to a railway bridge, which meant the occasional loud train passing by, but they weren't too frequent and I actually enjoyed the sound.
I finally got my chain on properly the next day at the bike shop, treating myself to a hot cafe lunch while I charged my powerbank a bit. I have two now, since my friend accidentally left his with me, and his timing couldn't have been better - the extra capacity is very useful when camping. The weather has been absolutely brilliant since he left as well - warm sunny days completely unrecognisable compared to the grey drizzle we had before. This heat was due to deliver a thunderstorm, however, with potential for flooding near rivers. It did eventually cross my path near Aviemore, and I was extremely thankful to be under shelter for the period. The town of Aviemore, on the other hand, I found quite disappointing, in a similar way to Pitlochry. The whole place seemed to be for shopping: this time mostly outdoors shops, with Chalmers House of Tweed making a surprise second appearance. I did my shopping - praise the Big Tesco - and got out, avoiding a second downpour with a quick duck into a pub.
With more rain forecast that evening, I was eager to find a camping spot quickly, and took the first opportunity I saw when passing through a woodland on Route 7 just outside the village of Carrbridge. This proved to be a bit of a mistake, as I had my first real interaction with Scottish midges. In retrospect, it could have been much worse (and worse was to come) but it was enough for me to rush through dinner and escape into the tent, watching the midges from within the safety of my nylon cocoon. On the plus side, my injured left palm was starting to do well enough that I could hold my handlebars almost like normal again, which was very nice after a few days of setting off pain by carelessly handling normal objects.
From that spot it wasn't far to Inverness, and I was excited for a town and a real bed, having booked myself a hostel the previous day. I'd intended to make a quick morning of it and give myself a free afternoon in Inverness, but couldn't resist a shower when I unexpectedly found clean, well-maintained public facilities at a community hub in a tiny village along the way. I don't regret a thing - that free shower was better than most hostel showers I've been in, and I bought some shortbread from the cafe afterwards to contribute something back. In the end, I got to Inverness in the afternoon and still had plenty of time to take in the sights, enjoy the perks of civilisation (a kebab and a washing machine), and watch the sunset from a viewpoint looking at the high Kessock Bridge before settling into my cosy bed.
I also had to figure out what I wanted to do next with my remaining time in Scotland. A lot of people had told me about the North Coast 500, an apparently very pretty 500-mile circular route around the, well, north coast, but I wouldn't have time to ride the whole thing. I could either ride the western half of it, apparently the more beautiful side, and then cut back towards Inverness, or I could head north from Inverness towards John O'Groats and the most northern point of Great Britain. I decided to choose the scenic route, and take the western half of the NC500 starting from Strathcarron, a two-hour train journey west from Inverness. Ticket bought, bike reservation booked: I'd start the next morning.