RSF - The Off Road Cycling Club

The Adventure Starts Here

1995

“If you do something right the first time, then it’s not hard enough.” — Danny MacAskill, Scottish trials legend BikeRadar / Immediate Media

 

 

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It's one thing to slip and slide onto a ferry with your bike, it's quite another thing to slip and slide off a ferry. A few years ago this is exactly what happened on arrival in Lerwick at the Holmsgarth Terminal. Winter had been dark and boring in the Netherlands so to get in some light I turned to the darkest part of the United Kingdom to seek and find the lights of Up Heliy-Aa. On leaving Aberdeen the temperature dropped sharply and when the M.F. St Clair was off Sumburgh Head (oil free as yet in those days), and somewhat delayed, the snow-covered hills of Shetland bid crew and passengers a rather cool welcome. With temperatures far below freezing point the harbour authorities had obviously chosen for a memorable disembarkation.
It all started with a phone call on a Friday evening, Mrs Harrison, (Mary), answered, ‘Hello,’ I said, ‘Would you know if Bob is planning a trip to Scotland?’ Mary said she would ask Bob when he came in. Next morning, a knock on my door, it was Bob, maps in hand, a smile on his face, ‘When are we going? I’ve had a look at some routes.* Two weeks later after a pleasant drive up to Killin, we had camped and negotiated widi the site owner that the car could be left in his care, and with die sun shining, two overgrown schoolboys set off on what was to be (apart from one half-day) eight days of sunshine and no midges
When I was a schoolboy . . . (Gosh! . . . was it so long ago!), a most important part of the curriculum was the weekly “Community Singing” under the eagle and ever-watchful eye (and ears) of the headmaster, who accompanied our young voices on the piano. Of course, like most young boys of my generation, we substituted our own words, (pianissimo), to the well-known songs. “Shenandoah” became “Shut that door, for it is draughty”. “John Peel” was credited with physical abnormal ities, and amazing feats entirely unconnected with fox hunting
Dawson City and Dawson Creek are on the same latitude as Reykjavik and Edinburgh respectively. Dawson City is situated where the Klondyke flows into the Yukon river: in 1896 gold was discovered in Bonanza Creek, the town grew rapidly and was known as ‘the Paris of the North’. Today Dawson City has a population of around 1500, the tarmac stops at the edge of town, and its muddy streets, board walks and wooden buildings certainly give the town character. The flight from Whitehorse had a frontier feel about it aboard a DC3 ‘Dakota’
Contrary to our beliefs that we would never again be able to take four bikes from Salisbury to Scotland, we were happy to find that British Rail had relaxed some rules and trains from Salisbury to Bristol and Southampton could carry four bikes; but only four so if there was a bike aboard already you were unlucky. The rules are now so complicated that hardly anyone understands them, for instance the notice on Salisbury station that several cycles can be carried on certain services has not penetrated to the booking office clerk, and it took 45 minutes to convince him that ‘several’ means more than two.
The lady who had been attacked by the bear (as described in Part 2) had been discharged from Fort Nelson hospital by the time I arrived. I left my address and she sent me newspaper cuttings and a letter saying that although her wounds had healed she may never have complete use of her right arm. At a campsite in the town I met a young German cyclist who was riding north. He was unprepared for the weather and the distances between food shops and had run out of food on one occasion.

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