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And no, I don't mean the slightly weird news that one may have to apply for a sporran licence shortly. I refer instead to midges, the microscopic vampires who descended on us every time we stopped on our glorious if daft overnight ride from Dumbarton. We stopped quite often. There were more hills than it was sensible to tackle on fixed - and three of us on fixed. Still, after a soul-crushing first couple of hours we found a pub, had a drink and replanned the route, and had a fine if tough time of it - and made it to the Forth Bridge for sunrise. Then the skies opened, my knee blew up, and we declared discretion over valour stopping at Kirkcaldy with weather reports of flooding, trauma and woez. Should have guessed really, from the landslide that tried to block our getting to the start, or the Buckfast zombies. Still, 85 really hard miles: the disappointment of not making it to St Andrews is offset by knowing that that was a good stiff ride.
