I haven't ridden a bike for almost twenty years - I've never owned one or anything. In fact, to show my age (and ultimate coolness), the last bike I rode was a Raleigh Chopper. So when it was announced we'd be going on a 9mile cycle along the Crinan Canal towpath, I was wondering what it was going to be like. As it turned out, it was great - the first time I had a practice I was off down the road like a natural (almost). There really should be some kind of saying about how people seem to remember being able to transport themselves on a self-propelled two-wheeled vehicle. And as you can see, I looked super awesome in my gear. And if you were wondering, it isn't a ladies bike. Next photo.
To me nine miles sounds a lot, but we were soon whizzing along the smooth gravelled towpath between the small loch villages of Ardrishaig and Crinan. The rest of the guys hared off like excited teenagers, but thankfully Ali stayed alongside the wobbling wonder as I rumbled along. Cycling's good fun, isn't it? Especially when you're away from cars and buses, and only the occasional errant Golden Retriever causes a problem. I also managed to avoid any Jacques Tati-esque tumbles into the canal itself - although it was so hot it might have been pretty nice. As it was, we rested enough times for pit-stops.
The Crinan Canal is one of rural Scotland's hidden treasures. First opened in 1801, it connects Loch Fyne to the Sound of Jura. The nine mile length has 15 locks - so can be time consuming for people not doing their Lance Armstrong impressions, but these days the slow transit is all part of the charm. In the old days, it was a vital link from the Clyde, as ships and barges could progress through to the open sea without having to sail all the way round the Kintyre Peninsula. And if you now have that Wings song in your head, it was in mine all weekend.
Look at that and tell me British food is rubbish. Go on. Admittedly, it's not on a par with the deep-fried haggis supper, but the seafood stew at the Crinan Hotel was a decent alternative. Also note the 'cycling fuel' alongside - isotonic, gets fluids round the body quickly, and has some kind of miracle effect on the pedalling power when you get back on. I can't think what it can be.
A fancy yacht bobs quietly in the Sound of Jura, in front of the Argyll coastline. The island of Jura itself was visible in the far distance, alongside it's smaller and rounder neighbours, Scarba and Luing - neither of which I'd heard of before. Crinan was fairly busy, with boats coming in every few minutes and starting their 4mph chugging up the canal. We saw a TV crew filming some travel piece, with the presenter Nicky Chapman on one of them. Fresh from her defeat on Only Fools on Horses, I saw the erstwhile Pop Idol judge trip over a rope and almost go over the side.
A job well done, as Paul, myself (still clutching helmet), Grant and Craig sit on Crinan docks getting ready for the exhausting forty minute ride back to Ardrishaig where we went putting. I suppose if you include drinking as a sport, we invented a new type of triathlon - cycling/drinking/putting could one day rival those chiselled loners that ride around in their swimming costumes as they're too pressed for time to pull on a pair of shorts. Anyway, I didn't win the cycling, finished mid-table in the drinking, and mid-table in the putting. With a performance like that I'd definately make the British team...
