And with that magical backdrop, my months of training for the Caledonia Etape came to an end on event day itself. The route is 136 km, with around 1,300 metres of ascent. It winds past Loch Tummel and Loch Rannoch, skirts around Schiehallion before climbing over its pass, and sweeps through the stunning glens of Perthshire alongside the River Tay.
At 6am we were at the start line in Pitlochry, among more than 2,000 riders, and around half an hour later we were waved off by cheering spectators. It was chilly in the early morning air, but within an hour - and after a hard 5 km climb - I was well warmed up. Scotland was looking bonny as I made my way, travelling far faster than I’d expected by tucking into mini-pelotons and holding on for dear life.
By the time I hit the steep climb of Schiehallion, around the 70 km mark, I realised I was faring quite well. My stomach was cramping from all the sugar and carbs, but my muscles were grateful for the fuel, keeping me pedalling hard. 80km, 90km, 100km ticked by, and I started to believe I was going to smash my expectations.
I tucked in behind hardened old timers - they didn’t seem to mind, they were clearly used to riding solo. Spectators started to become more regular and bagpipers helped boost me along. With 20 km to go, I was soaring; feeling the pain yes, but determined not to let the pace slip. The final hills hurt like hell, but as I turned back onto Pitlochry High Street, just over 5 hours and 20 minutes after I set off, I felt completely elated.
It was brutal, epic, and utterly brilliant. I’d never cycled that far before, and certainly never expected to do it that fast - and all through Caledonia, looking splendid in its absolute Sunday best. At 52, I’m not too old to feel proud of myself. And the girls helped remind me of that when I returned to a lovely welcome the next day. So Caledonia, I'll be back...
