When it was discovered that Davie would be absent from today’s outing, we opted for a bicycle trip. But where? Rex had the idea of Bowling to Balloch – new territory for the rest of us. So, for the first time this year six cyclists met near the canal basin in Bowling for the start of what we hoped would be a good outing.
But the recent cold spell continues, even depositing a fresh covering of snow on the hills. Though the sun shone, we were well wrapped up and even wore rain jackets to cut the cold air.
Rex led us across the road and on to the cycle path along an old railway lined with shrubby trees. The way was tarmaced and smooth and the running was easy. We soon got into a rhythm, a rhythm in which it was easy to get carried away and go far too fast for our own good. But we had been warned by the experts to keep the pace easy and conserved energy. We kept the pace extremely easy – eight and a half miles an hour for the entire outward journey.
The track left the old railway and dropped to join another, giving us the first and only decent freewheel of the day. Full advantage was taken of the drop and we wheeched down that slope like schoolboys released for the day, enjoying the freedom of the speed. Then the track levelled out on what might have been another old railway and the pace was eased again. Just as well, for the freewheel was beginning to turn chilly. But the easy rhythm resumed and we soon warmed up again.
The track took us into Dumbarton and through the delights of this county town. We left the old railway and followed the indicators on to the streets, quitet streets of a fairly modern estate, then through lightly industrial area, past a sign for Dumbarton Castle, past Dumbarton Academy where we noted some poor sods still tied to the chalk face, and on into the town centre. This was the main shopping street and gave us the only major traffic problem of the day with cars and buses and pedestrians trying hard to obstruct our progress. But we are Ooters and not a lot hinders us. All hazards were avoided and we wheeled over the Leven Bridge and back on to the safety of the cycle track. Almost immediately, we left the buzz of Dumbarton behind us. We would now follow the River Leven northward to its source in Loch Lomond.
Once again the path was smooth and level and there was a danger of getting carried away with speed. But the experienced lot got to the front and kept the rest in check.
At first the path ran close to the river. Goosanders, a large white male with blackish green head and a brown-headed female, fished the slow-running water; our first for the day but not our last. Then the river turned away and the path ran crossed a footbridge and through a marshy area bedecked with violet-white may-flowers. There was no indication of the curling pond that used to be here, just an open expanse of marsh running down to the river and covered in may-flower and bright yellow marsh marigolds. Rex was right; this is a pleasant cycle.
There came a shout from the rear for coffee. (There always comes a shout from the rear for coffee just as those at the front are getting into their stride.) It was closing on half past ten and we weren’t in a particular hurry but Rex, assuming Davie’s role today, said there was an excellent spot for coffee just ahead. We cycled on and came back to the river. A halt was made here for an information board took the attention of some, an information board detailing the industrial past of the Leven Valley, an industrial past based on the production of textiles. All very interesting but did we have coffee? No chance. We cycled on.
Another pair of goosander was spotted on the river as we ran towards Renton. Then we came to another of those information boards, this time detailing the history of Renton FC. Further on football ground lay on our left. Speculation was made as to who played there. Where was Paul when we needed him? It certainly wasn’t Renton FC. The eventual conclusion, rightly or wrongly, was that it was Vale of Leven. (We stand to be corrected, Paul.)
By the time the football team had been discussed, we were running through the housing schemes of Alexandria. But then the path returned to the river. Another pair of Goosanders floated on the water. Then it was boats that floated there. Dozens, hundreds of small craft lay moored in rows and columns right across the river and we knew that we were approaching Balloch and the source of the river in Loch Lomond.
We ran towards the loch. Ian told us that The Maid of the Loch was tied up and being renovated at a pier. We just had to see this and ran towards it. Visits aboard the steamer can only be had at week-ends so in that respect we were disappointed. But we weren’t disappointed in our coffee stop. (Eventually, said Allan) We sat on the picnic tables on the Maid pier and looked up the loch to where ‘the sun shines bright on Ben Lomond’. The Ben looked enticing with just the sun and cloud chasing each other across its flanks in the northerly breeze. The Luss hills were equally inviting, as were those above Inverbeg. We sat and watched the scenery or the folk at work on the jetty or on The Maid, and relaxed in the sun.
The intention was to cycle to Balloch and have lunch in a pub here. But it was far too early for lunch. Rex suggested we visit Loch Lomond Shores, a shopping complex not too far way. So, mounting up again, we casually rode the half mile through a park to the shopping complex on the shore of the loch. Notwithstanding the coffee of a few minutes ago, the gannets made straight for the cafe. Coffee and apple turnovers seemed to be the preferred sustenance.
Post coffee, a turn round the retail outlet was in order – Ronnie’s suggestion. By the time we had looked at and discussed the price of designer polo-shirts, packets of shortbread, single malt whiskies and bottles of Peroni beer, it was nearly lunch time. So, mounting up again, we ran back into Balloch in search of some pub grub.
We found The Tullie Inn and went in. The haddock goujons were pretty average but the Deuchars was good. We felt it best to stick to Deuchars today and avoid the Peroni, especially at £4.40 a pint.
With bodies refreshed, we started on the homeward journey. The return was to be the reverse of the outward journey so back down to the riverside we went. Past the boats we went. Into Alexandria we ran. The speed was just slightly upped on the homeward leg but not uncomfortably so and we kept together as a bunch. Back down through Renton then, past the football ground and the may-flowers and the goosanders. Rex’s phone rang. It was the missing Paul, obviously bored by waiting in airport lounges, texting to let us know he was on his way to France. We wished him the usual Ooters compliments and cycled on.
No time now to look at information boards but we did halt where we had on the outward, just to catch our breath. Then it was on again. Back through Dumbarton we came and on to the old railway again. Now the child within got a hold of some. The pace was subtly increased by those who know what they are doing. Twelve miles an hour, fifteen, seventeen and increasing. Flat out for the last mile or so. Some dropped off the pace early, some later and left only Jimmy, Ronnie and Rex to race it out. Then the brae came. Jimmy dropped off the pace as the fit two climbed away to arrive on the top as joint winners. There they waited in triumph (or exhaustion) for the rest to arrive.
A much more casual three hundred yards brought us back to our starting point in Bowling.
But the recent cold spell continues, even depositing a fresh covering of snow on the hills. Though the sun shone, we were well wrapped up and even wore rain jackets to cut the cold air.
Rex led us across the road and on to the cycle path along an old railway lined with shrubby trees. The way was tarmaced and smooth and the running was easy. We soon got into a rhythm, a rhythm in which it was easy to get carried away and go far too fast for our own good. But we had been warned by the experts to keep the pace easy and conserved energy. We kept the pace extremely easy – eight and a half miles an hour for the entire outward journey.
The track left the old railway and dropped to join another, giving us the first and only decent freewheel of the day. Full advantage was taken of the drop and we wheeched down that slope like schoolboys released for the day, enjoying the freedom of the speed. Then the track levelled out on what might have been another old railway and the pace was eased again. Just as well, for the freewheel was beginning to turn chilly. But the easy rhythm resumed and we soon warmed up again.
The track took us into Dumbarton and through the delights of this county town. We left the old railway and followed the indicators on to the streets, quitet streets of a fairly modern estate, then through lightly industrial area, past a sign for Dumbarton Castle, past Dumbarton Academy where we noted some poor sods still tied to the chalk face, and on into the town centre. This was the main shopping street and gave us the only major traffic problem of the day with cars and buses and pedestrians trying hard to obstruct our progress. But we are Ooters and not a lot hinders us. All hazards were avoided and we wheeled over the Leven Bridge and back on to the safety of the cycle track. Almost immediately, we left the buzz of Dumbarton behind us. We would now follow the River Leven northward to its source in Loch Lomond.
Once again the path was smooth and level and there was a danger of getting carried away with speed. But the experienced lot got to the front and kept the rest in check.
At first the path ran close to the river. Goosanders, a large white male with blackish green head and a brown-headed female, fished the slow-running water; our first for the day but not our last. Then the river turned away and the path ran crossed a footbridge and through a marshy area bedecked with violet-white may-flowers. There was no indication of the curling pond that used to be here, just an open expanse of marsh running down to the river and covered in may-flower and bright yellow marsh marigolds. Rex was right; this is a pleasant cycle.
There came a shout from the rear for coffee. (There always comes a shout from the rear for coffee just as those at the front are getting into their stride.) It was closing on half past ten and we weren’t in a particular hurry but Rex, assuming Davie’s role today, said there was an excellent spot for coffee just ahead. We cycled on and came back to the river. A halt was made here for an information board took the attention of some, an information board detailing the industrial past of the Leven Valley, an industrial past based on the production of textiles. All very interesting but did we have coffee? No chance. We cycled on.
Another pair of goosander was spotted on the river as we ran towards Renton. Then we came to another of those information boards, this time detailing the history of Renton FC. Further on football ground lay on our left. Speculation was made as to who played there. Where was Paul when we needed him? It certainly wasn’t Renton FC. The eventual conclusion, rightly or wrongly, was that it was Vale of Leven. (We stand to be corrected, Paul.)
By the time the football team had been discussed, we were running through the housing schemes of Alexandria. But then the path returned to the river. Another pair of Goosanders floated on the water. Then it was boats that floated there. Dozens, hundreds of small craft lay moored in rows and columns right across the river and we knew that we were approaching Balloch and the source of the river in Loch Lomond.
We ran towards the loch. Ian told us that The Maid of the Loch was tied up and being renovated at a pier. We just had to see this and ran towards it. Visits aboard the steamer can only be had at week-ends so in that respect we were disappointed. But we weren’t disappointed in our coffee stop. (Eventually, said Allan) We sat on the picnic tables on the Maid pier and looked up the loch to where ‘the sun shines bright on Ben Lomond’. The Ben looked enticing with just the sun and cloud chasing each other across its flanks in the northerly breeze. The Luss hills were equally inviting, as were those above Inverbeg. We sat and watched the scenery or the folk at work on the jetty or on The Maid, and relaxed in the sun.
The intention was to cycle to Balloch and have lunch in a pub here. But it was far too early for lunch. Rex suggested we visit Loch Lomond Shores, a shopping complex not too far way. So, mounting up again, we casually rode the half mile through a park to the shopping complex on the shore of the loch. Notwithstanding the coffee of a few minutes ago, the gannets made straight for the cafe. Coffee and apple turnovers seemed to be the preferred sustenance.
Post coffee, a turn round the retail outlet was in order – Ronnie’s suggestion. By the time we had looked at and discussed the price of designer polo-shirts, packets of shortbread, single malt whiskies and bottles of Peroni beer, it was nearly lunch time. So, mounting up again, we ran back into Balloch in search of some pub grub.
We found The Tullie Inn and went in. The haddock goujons were pretty average but the Deuchars was good. We felt it best to stick to Deuchars today and avoid the Peroni, especially at £4.40 a pint.
With bodies refreshed, we started on the homeward journey. The return was to be the reverse of the outward journey so back down to the riverside we went. Past the boats we went. Into Alexandria we ran. The speed was just slightly upped on the homeward leg but not uncomfortably so and we kept together as a bunch. Back down through Renton then, past the football ground and the may-flowers and the goosanders. Rex’s phone rang. It was the missing Paul, obviously bored by waiting in airport lounges, texting to let us know he was on his way to France. We wished him the usual Ooters compliments and cycled on.
No time now to look at information boards but we did halt where we had on the outward, just to catch our breath. Then it was on again. Back through Dumbarton we came and on to the old railway again. Now the child within got a hold of some. The pace was subtly increased by those who know what they are doing. Twelve miles an hour, fifteen, seventeen and increasing. Flat out for the last mile or so. Some dropped off the pace early, some later and left only Jimmy, Ronnie and Rex to race it out. Then the brae came. Jimmy dropped off the pace as the fit two climbed away to arrive on the top as joint winners. There they waited in triumph (or exhaustion) for the rest to arrive.
A much more casual three hundred yards brought us back to our starting point in Bowling.
But that wasn’t us finished for the day. With the bikes stored, we took a turn down to Bowling basin on the Forth-Clyde canal. A delightful stroll it was, affording splendid views up the river to the Erskine Bridge. A perfect way to finish off a most relaxing day.
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