Girls on Tour - A Yorkshire Lass, Evie the Campervan, and Ursula the Bike
Next year I’m hoping to cycle Land’s End to John O’Groats (LEJOG), and I’m taking every opportunity to cycle whenever possible. Not that I need any encouragement. Except I do. I’m still not fit enough. My arthritis and bunions cause me no end of pain. Actually, I quite like how Florence refers to these as Arthur the Writer and his onions. Walking is a no-go now, but cycling’s OK.
Mr M has done his duty this year and had a week in the Lake District with me and Florence in Evie the Campervan (AKA, in his words, a tin box on wheels). Now it’s back to solo adventures. Last week I had a few nights away. Actually, four, to be precise. Just me, Evie and Ursula, my bike, and Oban Camping and Caravanning Club site. It’s not really in Oban, but it’s close enough. 13 miles from Oban Harbour at Barcaldine. A secluded, small site, enclosed in a walled garden, great facilities, and the Caledonian Cycle Route 78 running right by it.
I had it all planned. Three days of cycling, and four evenings of writing. It was going to be perfect. The weather gods were still on my side. I had suntan lotion, Smidge, homemade flapjacks, and no vegetables.
Tuesday morning, I was up with the larks (not). With a double bed all to myself, I slept like the dead! But eventually I was ready, my picnic packed in my panniers, a flask of tea, a bottle on my bike full of Ribena, and an extra spare bottle of water for emergencies.
Looking at the blue Sustrans route signs, I could head towards Fort William, maybe as far as Ballachulish. That’s where we had our honeymoon at the Isle of Glencoe Hotel over 20 years ago. I could always send Mr M a photo of the hotel.
Route 78 is spectacular. Off-road and undulating rather than giant hills. That day I was breezing along the track, enjoying the fabulous scenery, thinking that I could be looking at the Norwegian Fjords, not Loch Linnie in the West of Scotland. I didn’t get as far as I wanted as I didn’t feel all that well, so I took my time and headed back to the campsite. With my bike locked, I went to bed, my large, glorious double bed, and slept for a couple of hours. Then I was back to normal.
The following day, I looked at my bike, but left it locked to the tree and did some writing instead. I’m working on a new novel, Celia the Accidental Cyclist. My plan this week was to edit the 20,000 words already written. Evie is my writing retreat, and sitting in her seems to bring out the creative ideas in me, or clarify them. I realised that the very first sentence of the book was wrong. For reasons that will become obvious when you (hopefully) read the book, Celia got off the train at Paddington Station. Except to get to Paddington Station from the Lake District where she lived, she would have arrived at Euston Station. The novel starts in 1942, so I had to think of the logistics of getting between stations, negotiating the bombing ruins in war-torn London, and whether there were any black cabs then. With this changed, I then had to rewrite another chapter when she was returning to the Lake District later that year.
More editing along the way involved changing Christmas tree lights to candles and remembering to mention blackout curtains. Of course, being the author and editor means that I can change the words, move whole chapters about, and add in new characters or kill off some unwanted characters as I wish. I’m not sure which I like best: writing or editing. So I do both. Because I can.
The campsite is a 10-minute walk from Loch Creran, so after a busy writing morning and a leisurely lunch in Evie, I grabbed my new collapsible stool (Mr M broke my old one as I swam in Coniston Water in the Lakes!) and headed down there. I had to cross the main road to get there, but once down by the water, it was tranquil. No human-created noises, just the sound of the birds, the odd plopping noise of a fish jumping out of the water to say hello, and a gentle breeze blowing around me. Mountains created the vista across the water, and I spent my time trying to work out which ones they were and whether I was looking towards the bulk that is Ben Nevis. I still don’t actually know. But knowing wasn’t important. Being in that moment was.
Thursday morning arrived, and I was ready for another cycle. I considered cycling towards Oban, but really wanted to do the same route I had done just to get rid of those demons telling me I couldn’t. So I cycled the same route, looking at the same views, the same castle, and the same mountains, but fully appreciating them now that I felt human again. The whole route keeps you off the main road, so there is no need to worry about the fast-travelling traffic heading towards Fort William and beyond. There is one section that takes you over a mountain pass, which I have no shame in saying I walked up. Descending to the loch level again, I remembered taking a detour down to Cuil Bay when I was here a couple of years ago. It was October that trip, and I recalled it being too cold to sit and fully enjoy the peace. I decided Ballachulish could wait until I had Mr M with me and took the little single-track road to the bay. I knew there was one bench there to sit at and was hoping it would be free. Alas, a man was sitting on it. Deciding to be brave, I approached him and asked if I could share the bench.
“Of course you can, lass. I’m off soon, anyway.”
A Yorkshire accent! As we sat there, we chatted about Yorkshire – him from Leeds and me from Halifax, less than 20 miles apart. He was up visiting his son who’d moved to a house in the bay and was fishing, not successfully. I love Scotland, but sometimes just to be with somebody who talks the same language, laughs at the same things, and sounds like me, gives me a certain amount of pleasure that I just can’t explain.
Right enough, he soon left me to the bench, and I enjoyed my picnic and flask of tea, watching the geese flying in formation, landing, taking off again, and returning, over and over again. Did they know they were giving me a treat to watch? I chuckled to myself watching the fish jumping from the loch now the hopeful Yorkshire fisherman had left them to live another day.
Then it was time to tackle the mountain pass again. Which I walked again. It wasn’t quite as steep going back, but my feet were too sore when I added extra pressure on them by ‘getting out of the saddle’ to try to cycle up the hill. Walking, or hobbling, pushing my bike, I decided that if I’d had a much lower gear to use, I would probably have been able to get up the hill. That’s something I’ll get sorted when I get home and visit my trusty bike shop, Solid Rock Cycles.
Once up and over the pass, it was back to the gently undulating cycle route. I stopped at Castle Stalker and finished my tea and picnic, taking in the views and pondering how different I felt today compared to Tuesday. We really do take our health for granted.
Back at the campsite, I enjoyed a wonderfully reviving hot shower in the immaculate facilities, then made myself another cup of tea and watched the world go by.
What do I love about having a campervan? It’s hard to define really exactly what it is. Driving Evie is not my absolute love, and I’m always glad I get where I’m going safely. But being on a site, having a cosy place to sit, eat, write, and sleep are absolutely my positives. With no husband or dog, I have more room, don’t need to put up the air awning, but still have enough room to take my bike, my writing stuff, and a large table to put up outside to spread my crochet on. I’m still working on the Lion King blanket I’m doing for my daughter. I’ve been doing this for nearly five years. It’s so big that each row takes so long, so I only get one done at a time. But you know me, I never give up. She’ll get this blanket for Christmas. But I don’t know which one yet.
I hope you have enjoyed this week's blog. Please leave a comment so I know I'm not the only person reading them.
Debra x