Aberfoyle & more fame

T minus 16 days.

Four hours sleep last night, which isn’t enough even for me. I was typing messages to Americans until 12.30 and then I couldn’t relax. I don’t know if I’m coming or going. Apart from when I’m on my bike, when everything is still and serene inside my cranium, I’m all over the place. When cycling, I'm in America, when static the whole thing seems is an impossible dream. Surrounded by bits of paper, emails suspended in the ether, so much to do, so little time to do it all…

The third day of training and now three days of rest. That’s nearly 190 miles in three days. Another north/souther, although this time in the other direction, up to Aberfoyle, which is exactly 30 miles from my home; through Milngavie (Mill-guy), Strathblane and Dumgoyne (where Glengoyne Whisky is made). Quite tired and lethargic after only 20 miles, so stopped to partake of blackberries from a hedgerow (a fortunate time of year to be caught short in the country) and also bought a bar of tablet, which is like fudge, but crumblier and sugarier. 13.4 mph was my average on this trip. I’m surprised I didn’t take off! There was a funny moment, when I was approaching Aberfoyle along a flat tarmac path. I sounded my bell to warn a middle-aged couple of my intention to pass them and the woman looked up into the trees. “I wondered where that sound came from,” she laughed. I laughed too…

The Sunday Post want to do an article about me as well! Not a one-off either…