Scottish Parliament's cycle parking takes shape

I was in Edinburgh this week, where the cycle campaign Spokes has just reported that there are more cyclists and fewer drivers in the city than ever.

It was hard for me to tell - I was too busy negotiating the tram-disaster roadworks in Princes St - but I was intrigued by these cycle racks.

They're splendidly situated in front of Arthur's Seat, which used to be a volcano; perhaps Arthur was too fond of the curried haggis.


The view the other way is the equally splendid Scottish Parliament building.

There I passed a happy hour spectating the Health and Sport Committee taking evidence on the Welfare Reform Bill legislative consent memorandum LCM(S4)5.1.


But the most distinctive thing is the shape of cycle racks, which have a touch of the Miró about them.

I wasn't quite sure how to lock my bike to any of them, to be honest.

Perhaps the absent-minded twisting of a few paper clips, during a particularly dull meeting of the Health and Sport Committee, was mistaken for maquettes of the new facility?

(Update: The mystery is partially solved by Tom's comment below... but only partially...)

Freewheeling uphill: Scotland's Electric Brae

Cycling in Scotland the other day I took the chance to do some uphill freewheeling near Ayr.

Croy Brae, often nicknamed Electric Brae, is a 'gravity hill' - an optical illusion that fools you into thinking an up slope is a down slope, and that the laws of thermodynamics are being temporarily suspended.

It's on the A719, about seven miles of gentle climb and coastal views south out of Ayr. A sign warns you of slow traffic: lots of cars can't resist the temptation to stop, let off the handbrake, and roll magically against the gradient.


There are several such gravity hills (I featured one in Aston Clinton, near Tring, in my Quirky Bike Rides book). But Electric Brae is the best one to cycle.



The illusion really is astonishing. This stretch of road clearly goes downhill into the trees, doesn't it?

Actually not, as the detailed stone plaque informs you in the lay by. In fact it's a quarter of a mile of 1 in 86 descent the other way, towards the camera.

If you stop on your bike 'down' in the middle of those trees and face towards the camera, you roll 'uphill', reaching a freewheel speed of about 10mph. (Conversely, of course, cycling the other way feels oddly strenuous for a 'downhill'.)


The strangest thing is how the illusion disappears the instant you lower your viewpoint (right), particularly when you're looking through a camera. With the surrounding hills out of your eye line, it's suddenly clear that the slope runs towards you. It's a remarkable demonstration of how subtle, but powerful, the subconscious effect is of the skyline on your mental spirit level.

Height of folly: Biking up Bealach na Ba

The road west over the hills to Applecross, on the north-west coast of Scotland, is Britain's longest steep hill. Simon Warren's recent book on Britain's top 100 cycling hills rated every one out of ten; this one rated eleven.

The hill is Bealach na Ba, usually translated 'Pass of the Cattle', but I prefer 'Cow Pass'. Bealach is the Gaelic for 'pass', pronounced rather like someone unexpectedly throwing up, which is appropriate.

The sign at the bottom - a candidate for Britain's most verbose - sternly warns learner drivers and caravans off its jackknife hairpins and vertiginous gradients.


The road was built in 1822, and they were clearly made of stern stuff then: it rises from sea level to 616m over a distance of 9km - or 2,053 feet in five and a bit miles in old money - giving it an average gradient of 7%, or 1 in 14 in imperial.

(It was listed in the Guinness Book of Records, as it was then called, as the longest steep hill in Britain for many years, before Guinness went all populist and turfed out stuff like that in favour of yummiest flavours of ice-cream, or the most unicyclists in Santa Claus outfits etc.)



It's Britain's most Alpine ascent, getting steadily steeper and steeper as it staircases up the wall of the pass, with the dramatic switchbacks at the top reaching 1 in 5.


But - yesterday, anyway - it was sheer delight to cycle up, from this tourist's point of view, stopping frequently to take pictures and swig water, and wave at motorcyclists hurtling to the summit. From the viewpoint at the top you have the magnificent skyline of the Cuillin ridge, keenly observed by people sitting inside motorhomes.


The other side - down to Applecross - is a whizzy adrenaline rush, with good sightlines, mostly easy corners, gentler gradients than the eastern ascent, and long straightish bits: five, maybe six miles of freewheel. And there's a pleasant pub in Applecross with a beer garden on the edge of the loch, and a fine view of Red Cuillin - that's the Skye Brewery beer, not the peak.

This, you see, was my birthday present to me.

Let's twist again: Britain's bendiest road

One of Britain's strangest roads is in Rothesay, on the Isle of Bute off the west coast of Scotland.

The Serpentine Road was built when the town boomed as a Victorian resort, its ten hairpins enabling the horses to carry building materials up to the manor house on top of the hill. Or so the bloke in the pub down the bottom told us, anyway.

A curious biking experience either up or down, it's much more exciting than the much-vaunted 'crookedest street in the world' Lombard St in San Francisco. It's twistier, and it's two way, plus you don't have all the gawping tourists.


London's twistiest bike path is on the Ornamental Canal just west of St Katharine's Dock by Tower Bridge, while the twistiest road in England is said to be Zig Zag Hill, part of the B3081.

But neither offers what Rothesay (right) offers, which is superb Victorian architecture, a restored Victorian public toilet in posh marble, stunning views, and a fish and chip shop owned by relatives of Lena Zavaroni. Ha! Take that, San Francisco!

Google's Street View vehicle heroically ascended the road, and on one of the views you can see a cyclist pushing wearily upstairs.

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Oh deer: Tea-shop story from the Highlands

Many of the best encounters you have on cycle trips come in tea shops. On our recent trip to Scotland we were pleased to see some red deer wandering round the hills on Glenelg peninsula near Arnisdale. We thought this was Scottish enough, but there was more.


We were a bit taken aback two minutes later to find that one of the stags was a regular in Sheena's Tea Shop, a delightfully make-do hut in the remote village of Corran. There it is, waiting to be served, or possibly checking it out for a stag do.


Apparently it's called Bin Laden, after its ability to disappear. The name is pronounced 'bin lay-den', which sounds like a house name for retired cycle tourers.

The 22-mile cul-de-sac: Britain's oddest road?

This is one of the strangest tarmac roads in Britain: a 22-mile long single-lane cul-de-sac that simply stops dead at the end of Britain's most fjord-like loch, many miles from anywhere.

It's the road from near Invergarry, on the Great Glen Fault in northern Scotland, to Kinloch Hourn, at the top of Loch Hourn on the epic west coast. (See map - Kinloch Hourn is on the extreme right, the road going east from there.)

It's an astonishing cycle experience: three hours of quite awesome, remote scenery (right), with the road entirely to yourself. On a sunny day, like we had last weekend on our trip there, the panoramas are awesome: cobalt-blue lakes, royal-green hills, polished-mahogany sheep turds.


Apart from a handful of walkers heading for the virtually roadless hiking wilderness of Knoydart, and the odd service vehicle for the hydroelectric dam on vast Loch Quoich (right), you'll see no traffic at all. Kinloch Hourn itself has a campsite, one B&B, a cafe which may or may not be open when you're there. Your chances of mobile phone access are as narrow as the road in its long, steep ascent away from the shore.

The prospect of cycling over 22 miles solely in order to turn back may not be attractive to everyone, but there are two ways to include the remarkable road in a linear trip. (We did it west to east to follow the tailwinds.)


The first is to cycle the rough but rewarding old pony track between the village of Corran and Kinloch Hourn. (The journey to Corran is a major undertaking in itself, probably involving a train to Mallaig, ferries to and from Skye, and a ride round the spectacular coastline of the Glenelg peninsula; or train it to Kyle of Lochalsh and cycle up and over the 350m Ratagan pass to Glenelg.) On a sturdy mountain bike that's no problem, but probably too uncomfortable on a road-touring bike with panniers. You'll bruise your bananas.


So your second option is to get Billy Mackenzie's by-appointment Arnsidale Ferry (above and right) between Arnisdale (next to Corran) and Kinloch Hourn (or wherever else you want him to take you). It's a half-hour trip on a thrillingly fast iron tub of a boat along a jaw-dropping sealoch, between the Glenelg and Knoydart peninsulas. It's reasonably priced too, especially given the remoteness and convenience (think of it as a water-taxi).


Once dropped off at the jetty near Kinloch Hourn, you can admire the very end of Britain's longest no-through-road (right), where it turns into a walking track.


Then you can cycle the extraordinary 22 ½ miles back to civilisation (ie pub) at Invergarry. The first mile or two is a steep uphill (right), too steep to cycle for most; from there you have no major climbs, and the trend is downhill after Loch Quoich.


The oddest thing about the road though is its lack of warnings where it starts, from the A87 in Glen Garry. Not even a 'T' sign, never mind Caution This Road Is 22 Miles Long And Goes Nowhere. Ah, another metaphor for life.

Spell in Scotland

I've been cycling in Scotland for the last week. I was genuinely impressed by how patient drivers in the Highlands are: almost without exception they'd wait behind us for a safe place to overtake, even up to a minute or more of winding rural road. (I've had similar experiences in rural England, notably Somerset.) Given Scotland's notoriously short life expectancy, they might have an excuse for getting a move on, so it was reassuring to see such courtesy and consideration.

(Let's hope TV nonentity chef James Martin, who issued a craven apology yesterday for boasting about trying to run over cyclists in a newspaper column, is too dim to find his way up there.)


Anyway, this sign (right above and below) caught my eye while up in the land of my forebears. It's for the new cycle path between Mallaig and Morar, far up the north-west coast. Some people say educational standards are slipping in Scotland, but look - they've avoided the common mistake of spelling 'principal' wrong, so well done guys! There's an identical one at the other end of the cylcle pa... oh...

Berth of civilisation: How to book Caledonian Sleepers cheap

Scotland's west coast is a fabulous place for a cycle holiday, and the best way of getting there with your bike from London or the south-east is by sleeper train (as devotees of the utterly brilliant train site www.seat61.com will know). (Picture from Rodents Rule's Flickr site.)

Scotrail sells a limited number of 'bargain berths' on its Caledonian Sleeper - tickets between London and say Inverness, Glasgow or Edinburgh for £19 one-way (compared to the usual £69–£85) – and yesterday I managed to snaffle a couple.

To book yourself a cheap ticket:
1. Go to Scotrail's site on the Friday morning 11 weeks before you want to travel. The cheap tickets are available for Monday to Friday of the 12th week after that. Their 'Buy train tickets' page shows the dates you can book for.
2. The Bargain Berths will probably be available some time mid-morning. You'll just have to keep refreshing the 'Buy train tickets' page until the new purchase period shows. Recent experience suggests this will happen about 11.15am.
3. The £19 berths almost all disappear immediately - literally within seconds - so be prepared to be flexible on dates! Tuesday nights seem to be your best hope for a cheap ticket.
4. There are also £29, £39 and £49 tickets available. You'll find these still available hours or even days after that first Friday rush. You can book more than one ticket at a time.
5. If you want to spend a week there, you'll probably have to do all the above on successive Fridays.
6. To book a place for your bike, you call 08457 55 00 33. An efficient but bored woman in Bombay, who sounds dubious that there is such a place as Crianlarich, will fix it for you.

Good luck.