Day 1 – Alloa (UK) to South Queensferry (UK)

March 26th, 2022

To say we had a good night’s sleep would be a lie, although I’m not sure if that was down to the sheer terror at what we have set ourselves up to do for the next two years or the Sirian takeaway we had last night. Regardless of the reason, the 5:30 am alarm went off far too soon for my liking, so I allowed Deborah to use the shower first as the gentleman in the marriage and had a snooze.

We tiptoed around the house like a herd of elephants believing that Honi and Benas might wake up to see us off, but it seemed they were sleeping a little better than we had, so maybe the shared Sirian takeaway can’t take the blame after all.

After 6 am, Deborah opened the garage door while I reversed our fully-loaded Hase Pino monster truck out onto the driveway. While I am getting better at the reversing manoeuvre, the trailer still seems to have a mind of its own, with a tendency to jack-knife at every opportunity.

Much of the research for our global adventure was conducted online, soaking up the many YouTube channels of daring adventurers appearing to be younger and fitter than us. They all started with the send-off from their doorstep, with family, friends and neighbours cheering and waving them off on their travels. At approximately 6:30 am, we stood on an empty street alone. The noise we had made getting ready for the off hadn’t worked. There wasn’t even a dog walker insight. So, after a quick selfie, we pushed off into the morning.

While it was a little chilly, we couldn’t have asked for better weather for the start of our adventure. As a demonstration of our confidence in how well our training regime had prepared us for the tour, we had chosen the 6 am set off to give us six hours to complete the eighteen miles to the official start at Rachel House Hospice in Kinross. We had managed a total of just under six hours of training on the fully loaded bike in the past year and a total of zero hours on the unloaded bike, so confidence was indeed buzzing.

The route to Kinross was almost all on cycle tracks and lanes, which would have been perfect if it wasn’t for the mountains that we were forced to scale during those eighteen miles. Okay, maybe not mountains, but with a bike that weighs in at approximately a quarter of a tonne when sitting on it, they might well have been mountains. We really should have done more training, and would have given a chance, honestly!

To our surprise, we arrived at Rachel House at 9 am, cycling up to the locked front door. Two and a half hours to complete the eighteen miles may not seem fast, and it isn’t, but still, we were chuffed.
Deborah searched for a loo (this may be a running theme on this tour!) while I pushed the bike into the sun at the side of the car park area to test the solar panel. Yes, as well as not training, we hadn’t even found time to test our gear—all part of our plan to make the tour more of an adventure.

It wasn’t long before the two vagrants sitting outside the hospice were spotted. Rather than calling the police on us, we were welcomed into the Rachel House garden and offered a hot drink. Our coffee (for me) and hot water (for Deborah) came with a couple of slices of fantastic carrot cake, but before we had time to take off the clingwrap, my mobile rang with a call in from Honi. Honi and Benas had decided to make sure we left after all, probably so she could take their house back, and were standing in the car park looking around like a couple of meerkats. I went around the front of the building and waved them over to join us.

Before long, another call introduced the arrival of our friends Kevin and Lisa, breaking away from their holiday at Gleneagles to see us off. Twenty minutes later, we were surrounded by friends; Mike and Dot, Fraser, Carol and Carol’s mum, Margret, and last but not least, Derek, who, hopefully, won’t regret managing Britsail, our sailing business, while we are away.

As noon approached, the CHAS team started to arrive, including Rami, the CHAS CEO; Peta, the CHAS Chairperson; Dave, the CHAS Communication Lead and chap that did such a fantastic job whipping up the media frenzy earlier in the week; Alison, our CHAS fund-raising contact, and a host of other equally important CHAS team members. Another member of the CHAS team, Alan, was a photographer for the day, so at his command, we moved back to the front of the building for the official photo shoot.

Static photo’s taken; the next challenge was the moving photo shoot, including seventeen members of the Kinross Cycling Club, arranged by Dave to cycle with us the first few miles. This was a good thing as while we had figured out to route out across Uzbekistan, the route from Kinross to South Queensferry, our first night camp, was still a work in progress.

Finally, shortly after noon, flanked by a group of Lycra-clad cyclists that looked much better physically prepared for a global tour, astride bikes that probably weighed in less than our sleeping bag, the time had arrived to start pedalling. Anyone that hasn’t seen us kick-off might have thought that we were good at it, but the elegance of today’s kick-off was nothing more than a fluke; what better timing for a fluke to occur. There were plenty of cameras and phones pointing in our direction as we cycled out of the grounds of Rachel House and down toward Kinross High Street.

Thankfully a couple of the CHAS team were holding up traffic to the right as we approached the high street, indicating we needed to make a left turn. By the time we were halfway down the High Street, we had realised that we hadn’t managed to say goodbye to our daughter and her boyfriend in the noise, but we could hardly turn back then, so we continued.

The Kinross cycle club helped with our pace for the first four miles. While we were up front, having one rider to our side chatting and another sixteen behind us helped on by the motivation not to embarrass ourselves too much, maintaining a reasonable speed for such a heavy set of wheels.

After about four miles, we took a left turn, stopping the Fruix layby. This was the point it had been decided that those that knew what they were doing would head off for their usual Saturday afternoon cycle, leaving the clueless pair to get on with it. With enough good wishes to keep us going for a couple of weeks, we were left standing alone at the side of the road without our good friend Mike. Another friend, Fraser, had joined the gaggle of cyclists, but it seemed he had a lunch planned, so he had peeled off earlier.

Feeling guilty about not saying goodbye to Honi and Benas, Deborah called them to see if they were still in the area. While they were already heading home to Alloa, Honi turned the car around and headed in our direction. It wasn’t long before their silver Qashqui pulled over into the parking bay we were standing in and giving Honi and Benas their last hug before Christmas 2023, the most likely next meeting if everything goes to plan.

Just as we were about to leave, less than 30 minutes into our cycle, a car pulled over opposite where we were standing, and we received our first roadside donation of the trip.

We continued in the general direction of South Queensferry, i.e. south, with just one wrong turn, chatting with Mike as we pedalled. This was the first time we had been out in public on the fully loaded bike, so it was a bit of a surprise at how much attention we were receiving, from surprised looks to shouts of encouragement and camera phone pointed in our direction. When a black pick-up truck pulled up alongside as we slowly made our way up a steep hill, I thought we would receive our first negative comment, but to our surprise, the driver handed us a handful of change and wished us well.

Before too long, the structures of the three Firth of Forth Crossing came in and out of view, and it wasn’t too much longer before we were cycling onto the old Forth Road Bridge, now dedicated to public transport, cycles and pedestrians, with everything else thundering across the new Forth Road Bridge to our right.

While I am sure we would have had the bridge to ourselves on a typical March day, as the sky was blue and the temperature in the mid-teens, a sizable proportion of the population of Edinburgh had decided to go for a walk along it. Dodging walkers and fellow cyclists, we made it to the other side of the bridge with a few additional photos on the camera and no significant incidents involving our fellow bridge users.

The cycle from the bridge to Port Edgar Marina, where Chris from Port Edgar Watersports/ Edinburgh Marine Academy had arranged for us to camp for the night, was downhill in the knowledge we would be paying that back with a big uphill the next day. As we cycled into the gates of the marina, we were welcomed by Dot, Mikes’s partner in crime, waving a large Scottish flag and a beaming smile. We had made it through day one relatively unscathed.

We initially headed around to see Chris at his office, but he was teaching in the classroom until 4:30 pm, so we headed back to Mike and Dot’s campervan in the car park and enjoyed a hot drink and pancakes.

We said our goodbyes to Mike and Dot and headed back to see if Chris had finished teaching for the day. There was no sign of Chris, but Alex, one of Chris’ team, was on hand to confirm where we could pitch our tent. This being the first time we had pitched the tent in months, it went up quite smoothly, and it didn’t take long before the bike was unpacked and the tent readied for the night. As we hovered around taking photos of the bridges, Chris called by on his way home. We have partnered with our RYA (Royal Yachting Association) training centres for many years, so it was great to have that final catch up before heading off for a couple of years.

In the madness that was the few months before our adventure, we hadn’t managed to meet up with quite a few friends that we would like to before we headed off. From way back when we first moved to Edinburgh over thirty years ago, our oldest friends had arranged to come over to the marina to visit us. Instead of cuddling up in our sleeping bags at 7 pm, which would have otherwise been the plan for the night, we headed to Scotts bar and restaurant instead—enjoying an evening with Mabel and Neil, catching up after such a long time due to the forced separation of COVID.

The evening ended all too quickly, and by 11 pm, we were snuggled up in our sleeping bags, wondering what tomorrow would deliver.