A few Saturdays have passed since I wrote the last post. Saturdays making big plans, but ending up with the crumbs instead. And this weekend was almost close to be just another one of those. One of those when you are too tired to make plans during the week, and then finally you hit Friday night, and there still is: no plan. To some that might just be exactly the thing you want to do, for me it isn’t. And I know myself to well, having got a lot of time to myself when riding my bike to work. During the week I was too knackered to progress plans any further. When I walked through the door on Friday night, still wet from the rain, I had just finished cycling 404k in the week to work, and even back on Monday. Now, for some that might hard to imagine already, as it meant that for the first time this year I had travelled more journeys in the week by bike compared to the train. Even though it is hard to juggle commuting by bike and work commitments sometimes, I consider the journey to Stirling as part of my day now, as others do their breakfast. It’s still a mini-adventure each day, but there is also the need to breakaway on the weekends. So I had big plans for this weekend, but ended up with nothing by Friday night.

The story was the no different on the Saturday morning and I got upset with my own lack of commitment. The sun was shining, there was no excuse. And there was, and still is, the dream to cross Scotland in one go from South to North. While I was thinking Mark Knopfler played his solo in ‘Sultans of Swing’ in the background, and I looked at some of my recent Facebook posts. 200k was the furthest I had done so far this year, to some unimaginable to cycle in one day, to me it was an average daily trip. There were the 445k in Belgium still in my mind, and the knowledge that I most certainly needed a new challenge to cheer me up. Although I had and still have this big plan of cycling 650k through Scotland, I seemed to fail on believing what I was capable of doing recently. But I also questioned to reason behind the intention to push the boundaries even further, hadn’t I done enough already? There was a simple answer, and it was no.

I dug out the old post on Facebook and tried to book a space for the 18.30 train on Sunday from Inverness. The plan was as simple as this: to start cycling at midnight, and get wherever I decided I would get to. There was a minimum of 300k in my head. Then again, I was thinking about even more. I wanted to test myself and reassure me that I wasn’t just daydreaming when I came up with the 650k journey idea. There were lines like ‘one’s life must matter’ and ‘quitting lasts forever’ in my head as I seemed quite absent talking to a lady in the Scotrail telesales office on the other end. There was still Mark Knopfler, playing again and again. But no bike space from Inverness to Edinburgh, just on the afternoon train. And a bus replacement service from Falkirk to Polmont. Not just the weekend, the world seemed to conspire against me. I hung up after a nice thank you, and needed plan B.

Once you have no plan, coming up with an alternative is at least an easy thing to do. I needed to commit to whatever came up, and I needed it now. I picked up the phone again, and this time I was lucky. I was booked on the train to Inverness at 19.37, the rest was open. I could pick up my tickets in 20 minutes. I thanked the lady again, this time in possession of a booking reference for me and my bike. “Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back– Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth that ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.” (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe).

I almost missed the train, but ran and caught it in time. I was expecting it to be less busy and to manage a few more hours of sleep in on top of the 2.5 hours I managed to sleep in the afternoon. People were looking a bit puzzled at my bike and outfit, I was most definitely the only one travelling to Inverness in lycra. The couple next to me talked about the last time they had ridden a bike while I emptied my jersey pockets and tried to sleep a few hours, and kind of managed to. At 23.15 I arrived in Inverness on a Saturday night. It was St.Patrick’s Day, so the city was alive with people drinking one or two too much, while I was getting ready for another midnight cycle, more than two months after the adventure on my last trip back to Scotland.

[slideshow]I was not expecting a mild night, and it felt quite cold when I stepped outside. I headed on a dual carriageway towards Aberdeen and stopped at the next best fuel station for a coffee as everything in the station was closed. The free shot a vanilla flavour made it even more enjoyable, while I was trying to scale what lay ahead. I knew I will get tired at some stage in the night, hitting that big mental wall in my head. I had a two-hour fight with myself in Belgium, trying not to fall asleep while still paying attention to the road, and this time would be no different. I had roughly estimated the miles ahead, even though the route was still flexible. I thought about the distance ahead and broke it down into daily commutes. I had to cycle to Stirling from Edinburgh six times in a row, so roughly as much as I did in the week passed in five days. I had to stop thinking when the coffee was finished and I had tweeted my departure. It was cold as I was heading into the big unknown.

Soon out of Inverness the temperature dropped even more. It was a proper winter’s night, and by now I knew that I was not dressed properly. Fortunately I had taken my subzero gloves with me, but from experience the temperature was too low for them, with the wind chill added when you cycle of an average of 25 km/h. The cold was creeping into my bones and one of my hands froze up. I was grateful for any small hill ahead that would push my heart frequency up, and allowed my speed to go down and my perceived body temperature to rise. I was only one hour into the ride, and it was a nerve wrecking experience. I looked into a star filled sky and enjoyed the stillness and calm of the night, but not the cold. I was ready to pull, closer than I had ever been. I stopped at the train station in Forress, ate one of my bars and a sip of ice-cold water.

There was no B&B or Hotel in sight. I was back on the bike and pedalled even harder to warm up. All I could think of was a warm hotel room, a warm bed and a shower. I could sleep for a few hours and start again in the morning, a much more enjoyable experience. There was some good news about the cold though. It was too cold not to fall asleep on the bike. Too cold for lengthy brakes, all that worked in those conditions was pedalling at a decent frequency and not stopping. As much as I liked the idea of a warm B&B I hated the idea of quitting. I quitted on my WHW adventure, and kept wondering for weeks and weeks to come what it would have been to finish. Quitting was not an option, not tonight. I felt very exposed. Exposed to my own plans, ambitions and the conditions outside. But I remembered the video from Scottish Swimming, where I was warmly welcomed as Marketing Manager a couple of weeks ago, which had send shivers down my spine I first watched it, positive ones. ‘But to be a winner, you have to earn it, you have to live it, and never give up.’ (Hannah Miley) I didn’t give up. I stopped in Elgin for a cheap coffee, and explained my plans to some taxi drivers. They advised me to take the train from Aberdeen and get a taxi there. I kindly declined the offer and cycled again. I was soon to hit 3am, and I was still cycling. I had made decent progress and was looking forward to the sunrise. I had a plan, and this time I had an iron will to finish. There was no way back.

Even the tree branches were frozen in the Glens heading to Aberdeen. It was somehow beautiful but still too cold. By then the apple juice/water combination in my bottles was a smoothie with decent amounts of ice in it. All of the sudden I saw one of the most perfectly shaped moons I have ever seen in my life. There were hardly any cars on the roads to break the perfect silence. It was too cold to get the camera out, but the beauty was mind boggling. If I had to cycle all the way for that one picture, I would always do it again. By 5am I could see the sky brightening up in the East, and I was looking forward to the first glimpses of sunlight.

I arrived in Aberdeen with the morning sun and treated myself to a coffee. The only place I could find was McDonald’s, and as much as I hate big franchise chains, I didn’t care this time. I smuggled my Sainsburys oat cookies in and enjoyed breakfast. I tweeted a few words and hit the road again. From here I enjoyed a beautiful ride down the Aberdeenshire and Angus coast, with splendid coastal views. From Aberdeen I was ploughing into a head wind, which didn’t my things easy and dropped my average speed by more than 1km/h. I filled up with sugar and calories in Montrose. While continuing down the A92 towards Dundee I suddenly saw a silver Vauxhall pulling out of the oncoming traffic at full speed. It all happened too quickly, but it felt the closest I have ever been to death on the road. The car missed my bars by about 20cms, and I immediately stopped myself thinking what could have happened. It would have been none of my fault. It was the carelessness and stupidity I experience too often when I cycle home on busy roads. In my eyes it was attempted murder, in the car drivers eyes it would have been one minute earlier at the destination. I was lucky and tried the cycle path instead. It was no good either. Littered with broken glass, gravel and ‘Cyclists dismount’ signs, it was a national disgrace for Scotland, nothing else. It treated cyclists exactly as some drivers on the road treated me, as second class citizens.

I passed the Tay Bridge on a sunny afternoon and treated myself to my last coffee. The pressure was off by now, as I knew that I would get to Edinburgh easily from here, no matter how long it took. I veered off the planned route and took some side roads to Cupar and from here to Kirkcaldy. I got lost in Kirkcaldy yet another time and headed north instead of South. I didn’t care and cycled back and in the right direction. Shortly after the sun had set I stopped and enjoyed the scenery at the Forth Road Bridge. I had 362km in my legs and still felt fresh. By now I knew that I could do another 300k in summer if I had to. A bit more support would be needed, and I would possibly need a cheer now and then to keep going. I would need a new pair of bibs for more comfort, but everything else was fine. I cruised down the last 20km towards Edinburgh and walked back through the door, the same one as Friday night. This time with a big smile on my face. I was alive. I had just defeated my biggest critic, me. I tweeted the final numbers and drowned a pint of milk. 381.63km, 23.5km/h, 16:13h in the saddle. In the end it is about the story, not the numbers. Thanks to Ian for reminding me of that.