Wingman eats his way across Rannoch Moor ..........

As we awoke this morning to fresh snow on the Ben, it was clear today was going to require men with mettle. The Duracell was to assume the temporary mantle of the Ironman, choosing to start the day with shorts and fingerless mitts – wisdom or madness, only time would tell. It was a dry start with a strong westerly wind which would be both our friend and our foe. The Duracell took a break from preparing breakfast and so the fry up was off the menu. Only the slice of Bigman’s porridge recipe would protect the athletes from frostbite and tiredness. ( It was not enough for The Wingman who managed to sneak in a cheeseburger and chips before 10.00 to maintain the carb count) ……………( it did not act like Radweld for the Duracell either as we still had to stop after 3 miles for a comfort break ……… again!)

The Fort was very quiet apart from the lone camper on the foreshore grassy bank. We wonder whether the owner really knew the pitching position.

Loch Lihnne was looking resplendent as the rain swept in from Mallaig heading ion a northerly direction. The Dawes gears were dropped and we upped the pace to miss the impending hosing. The strategy failed. Around Onich, it started to rain like it had not rained for days. Previous blogs indicate this is not a true reflection of the weather we have ‘enjoyed’. At Ballahullich a decision was required – coffee now or wait for the fast approaching sunshine and from the west and enjoy the 10 mile climb up through Glencoe in brilliant sunshine. We opted for plan B. Duracell agreed to plan B on the basis he could achieve a wardrobe change after drying out. Not every plan by the Bigman works out perfectly. We were moving so fast we were ahead of the ‘fast’ approaching sunshine. In fact, sunshine did not arrive for another 10 miles. As we approached the crest of the Pass of Glencoe, the Wingman was taking shots of the superb mountain scenery. Awesome. If it was not for the cheddar cheese dripping from his chin we may have remained ignorant to the carb induced moment that took place in the metropolis of Ballahullich village.

At this point, it is appropriate to publish the fact that the Wingman confessed to advising the Ironman ( who was joining us later) not to bring a pudding. Could it be down to the Cheeseburger he had just gorged?. The Duracell rebuked the Wingman with an instruction to the Bigman to advise the Ironman to ignore the ‘monkey’ and bring on the pudding.

It was about this time, that the Duracell made a request to the Wingman for a photograph where he was presented as being taller. After a short interlude, embracing a quizzical look, the Wingman in a stroke of genius asked the Bigman to stand in a ditch. Apparently Mrs Duracell will be pleased!

Coffee and scones were the order of the day at the Kinghouse Hotel. The view of Buchail Etive More out of the picture window was amazing. Magnanimously, The Wingman donated his shortbread to the boys on the bikes ……….. or was it sheepishly.

The trip across Rannoch Moor was one of the most memorable of my cycling experiences. There is nothing and nowhere that beats the breathtaking scenery of the
moorland in brilliant sunshine. Many have made the traverse, less have tasted the scenery with clear views however it is worth persisting to experience it.

The mild climb from Bridge of Orchy to Tyndrum held bad memories from a previous century ride. Today we were magnificent and modest. The Dawes was eating up the road. As an aside, the traverse was the finest road we have travelled over the 4 days which is more than can be said for the last section to Killin.

The Real Food Restaurant in Tyndrum served up a fine haddock supper supported by date cake. The Wingman, being on a seefood diet, went for the black pudding supper washed down by DIET Irn Bru.

The journey to Killin was virtually down hill for circa 20 miles rocket fuelled by the fish.

The Braveheart Backpackers Hostel was something special. It has to be experienced to be believed. A special benefit was the we company were afforded in the form of eight youthful ladies on a journey following the Rob Roy way. The Ironman regaled them with his manly experiences in the New Zealand Ironman. One by one they made their excuses and headed off to bed tired by the energetic enthusiasm with which the Ironman retold every moment of his 15 hour experience. The Ironman has some making up to do tomorrow. Having requested some pudding and port, he managed the pudding but pretended the port must have been a joke. He has not spent enough time on tour with the Duracell to understand we do not joke about port on tour.

It is now 23:22 and the Glenfarclas is draining faster than the laptop battery. Technical hitches with the hostel has meant this blog will not be uploaded until we find civilisation.

Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is the final day. Tomorrow is the end of the end of the beginning. To quote a Churchillian quote from our trip …………. Oh yes!