On 13th August 2014 I set out on what I would describe as a character building ride. I was on a family holiday in South Ayrshire on the edge of the Galloway Hills. I love this part of Scotland. It’s where generations of my mum’s family have lived and where my mum grew up, and I’ve always felt a strong attachment to the place. This visit was particularly poignant as the symptoms of my mum’s illness were becoming more evident and it was likely to be her last time in Scotland. I had brought my bike for some long rides (my grandad taught me to ride a bike by the river in nearby Dalrymple) but a few days in to the holiday and the weather had been relentlessly dreek. Apart from one windswept and wet loop to Culzean, there had been little opportunity for riding. Then, finally on the fifth day, no rain. Still overcast, but with the promise of blue skies.
With no wifi or phone reception at the holiday cottage, I used good old fashioned paper maps and some tips from my mum to cobble together an 80km (or so) roundtrip passing through Damellington, St John’s Town of Dalry, Newton Stewart and back up through Galloway Forest Park. I hadn’t quite got to grips with my new Garmin but brought it along anyway for back up and to record the ride for posterity.
I set off at 10.30am with a plan to meet my parents at The Clachan Inn in St John’s Town for lunch and then continue on and get back to the cottage by 4pm at the very latest. I figured 80km in 5-6hours should be no bother.
I headed off on the B741 through the moorland, farmland and hills to Dalmellington. It’s a rugged craggy landscape that is both solid and maudlin. The heavy undulating ground is covered in a deep greeny brown moss and on this mid-summer day the skies were dense and sullen with occasional shafts of light. It felt good to be getting in to my own pace and I was enjoying the wide open space and dramatic scenery. Past Dalmellington and somewhere along the Casphairn Road between Loch Doon and Kendoon Loch the clouds cleared and I was removing the wintery layers. How lucky that bright blue skies and warm sunshine should appear just as I passed all those crystal clear lochs.
I arrived in St John’s Town where there was just time to have a quick bite to eat with my folks, and buy some emergency biscuits. And off I set again, a wrong turn up a long steep hill, but hey, what did it matter, the sun was shining and I was doing good time. I soon reached the southernly edge of the Galloway Forest Park. Wide open land, big hills, lochs and forest, and usually hardly a soul around. Except on this afternoon a chap called David greeted me as he emerged on his touring bike from a forest dirt track he’d ridden several miles down by mistake. David was part way through a 1,000 mile fundraising cycle around the UK and we rode together and talked bikes and Scotland for an hour or so before arriving in Newton Stewart. By this point it was 4pm. The Garmin had recorded 80km covered so far but from the maps I still had at least a third of the ride again to get back to the cottage. Oh dear. I tried calling my folks but there was no way of getting through with no reception. My dad is a worrier – I knew he would soon be pacing and my mum would be quietly concerned, but there was little I could do besides continue.
The sky had clouded over and the winter gear was back on. At that point David pointed out that my back tyre was very worn. There were no bike shops nearby. After giving David some of my emergency biscuits I left him and Newton Stewart to start the journey back north to Straiton following new directions on the Garmin. The skies opened and the relentless rain had returned. 
Several miles on and I was starting to brick it. The Garmin route seemed to be veering to the east but the rain sodden paper maps showed a more direct route heading slightly north west which meant leaving the nice smooth road I was on and joining a rough gravelly looking road leading into the forest. I decided on paper over digital as the route saved at least 10km or so. I was climbing higher and higher (up Tairlaw as it turned out) and into a mixture of forest and moorland. The cloud was dense and falling, the light seemed to be fading and visibility was poor. It was gone 5pm and there was still quite some distance to go. The rain was increasing and suddenly, oh no, not a bloody puncture. Not even the worn back tyre but the front. Why had I gone off route? – I was in the middle of nowhere and no one knew where I was. I hate fixing punctures. I’m slow at the best of times and I wished I’d replaced my stupid little pump like I’d been promising for months. I did a bodge repair and cautiously continued, cursing myself for being a daft southerner and coming out ill-prepared. And then just like that, the rain stopped, and out came the sun. I reached Tairlaw Toll and was freewheeling downhill towards Straiton. It felt glorious.
I finally reached the cottage at 7pm. 132.6 km in total. My dad was pacing at the bottom of the driveway. My mum was quietly sat in the kitchen. She got up and gave me a great big hug.
words and pictures by Lee Milne
http://www.strava.com/routes/4353186
Here is the circling of the Awful Hand.
www.6amcycling.co.uk 