Our ride today called for us to take the Nigg ferry. We stopped at Tain for a few supplies (also for the first cash point since Thurso) to ask if the ferry still ran and was told that it departs from Nigg at 15 and 45 minutes past the hour.
Those Norwegians get everywhere
Rich hadn't slept all that well in the tent and his knee was a little painful after our saunter through the peaks the previous day, with a marked effect on his pace. He lagged noticeably, the loss of our porridge and Welsh cakes the previous evening is unlikely to have helped either. As we headed down to the Nigg ferry his pace was noticeably dropping.
The North Sea Cycle Route invites us to take a long ride, off a short pier.
When we arrived at the ferry pier we queued up behind a local motorist and waited on the very exposed dock side for the ferry. The swell was considerable and looked like it would make the short voyage quite interesting... it wasn't to be though, as shortly the motorist at the head of the queue (who I had earlier engaged in a short chat, before they retreated into their car out of the wind) reemerged and announced that they had telephoned the ferry man and that it wouldn't be sailing today. I replied that "Well, at least we won't have to stand about in the wind any more".
We began heading back up the peninsula to take the long way around via Alness and the A9, but Rich's legs had started to betray him. We paused to consider staying at the B&B adjacent to the Ferry pier to see if the Ferry would sail the following day, but the decision was taken to press on.
In the bad weather, and carrying the injury progress was slow. We stopped at the next Inn we came to for a hot meal out of the rain, and to consult our maps in an environment which wasn't guaranteed to shred them. We discussed how far we might get with the ride, at what pace we might make etc. I also tried to convince Rich to take some anti-inflamatories (he isn't one for medicines). Eventually I tabled the unpalatable question; "is it sensible to continue?". Rich was stoic, and felt that he could carry on, but I reminded him that the question at hand is "should you", not "can you". Many a cyclist has had to hang up their Lycra permanently because of knee injury; better to avoid making it worse and be able to ride another day. The North Sea cycle route isn't going anywhere. As we closed the discussion we intended to make for Inverness (some 30 miles from where we were), stay the night and review the situation about continuing with the tour in the morning. As I watched Rich limp out to the bike and the way the cold affected him as we prepared to roll out it became clear that Inverness was going to be a challenge, and continuing with the tour was almost certainly off the cards. Having vanquished the peaks, we now looked to be facing defeat at the point of victory.
Riding along the exposed North Sea coast in the rain was uncomfortable, but occasionally beautiful.
For Rich the ride became a struggle against a painful injury and the prevailing inclement weather. For me the ride presented different challenges. My mind raced with, predominantly grim, permutations of how our situation might deteriorate further. Meanwhile the wet, cold, wind and heavy A9 traffic was a source of significant discomfort. My response to all of those things would normally be to set a fast pace, keeping my self warm through the effort and safe by reducing the speed with which other traffic closes on me. On the narrow and busy A-road it was also quite difficult to keep tabs on Rich (as one tends to drift out into the road when looking over the shoulder).
I adapted by spinning a higher cadence than normal; this helped keep the circulation going (and I just had to deal with the traffic). Rich just summoned up vast quantities of grit and determination from goodness-knows-where to allow him to continue, despite his obvious pain.
When we eventually rolled into Inverness Rich had a noticeable limp, and my feet numbed to the core. We had made an average speed of just 6.5miles per hour since the Inn. At that pace there was no way we were going to be able to continue. With no obvious place to stay jumping out at us, we headed for the train station (partly to get a look at the clock as we had no idea what time it was) and decided to look at the possibility of heading back to Aberdeen immediately (as from Inverness there is over a days travel to Newport/Bristol by rail).
Thankfully after days of my laptop giving me an error which translates to "Ach, are ye daft laddie!? Ye be in the highlands now, y' will ne' find any of yer Internets up here!" I was able to get online. I booked a room at the Travel lodge on Bridge Street in Aberdeen where we had stayed on the way up (chosen for its proximity to the station, and the fact that we knew how to find it, rather than its acoustic merits) and we made our weary way on the next train.
We had a pleasant chat with some locals, whose merry state appeared to be liquor induced. They were not impressed with my answer to "when was the last time you were drunk?"
Even after the day we had had this still made me chuckle. This is the sign above the door of, what appeared to be, an old club adjacent to Aberdeen railway station (which has 8 platforms) called Platform 9. Someone has added 3/4 to the end in permanent marker; tastefully done graffiti.
We arrived at the hotel at about 23:45 and hastened to bed, as it was too late to get food.
Possibly things might have been different had we waited for tomorrows Ferry, but in honesty I think the damage was done before we ever set off that morning.
The day reminded of something Graham Fife had said at a recent lecture in Bristol; "No mountain, no ride is ever ridden once and forever; you ride it afresh each time". This ride wasn't, on the face of it, all that hard. It is relatively flat and is generally unremarkable however our situation created a ride that posed a real challenge. We didn't ride a fast ride, or a long ride, but Rich certainly rode a courageous ride; and this, to my mind, is the sort of ride cyclists appreciate most of all.
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