It was 7pm, dark and as it happened, not that cold when I finally departed the house. I followed an oft used mix of back roads, cycleways, trails and tracks to enter Devilla forest just before 8. I'd scoped out a likely bivvy spot which should be far enough away from the usual dog walking routes to avoid being disturbed the following morning by someones ill-disciplined mutt. On arrival, the clear square in an area of new planting was bit tussocky so I embarked on what would hopefully not be the usual bivvy spot finding faff. I did pass a couple of likely looking spots as per but pushed on a bit further into an area of deciduous woodland and level grass which seemed nigh on perfect. The only question mark was on how sheltered it would be when the forecasted over-night wind kicked off.
Up went the tarp in reasonable time given that the last time I used it was last July. As I got in a brief sprinkle of rain passed through. This was in the forecast but for later however it was short lived so I settled in with my book, a couple of beers, food and whisky. People talk of many motivations for going out into the wilds, usually related to such nebulous concepts as finding oneself, connecting with nature, dropping out of the rat race etc. etc. My motivation is more basic:- escape from the mayhem that is my work, ride my bike, eat food and drink beer.
As I turned in the rain came back on in earnest. It was warm though and the quilt redundant. This is probably the most urban bivvy I've done. Just to the south is the former Longannet coal fired power station, now closed and in the process of being dismantled. Beyond that is the Forth estuary and then Grangemouth oil refinery, the roar of which was an ever present sound. In comparison, the patter of rain on the tarp was most pleasant and served as an ideal substitute for my tinnitus hearing aids, resulting in an almost instant descent into the land of nod. (or maybe that was the beer)....
I woke later noting the rain was off but the wind was up. There was much noise but my abode was peace and tranquility. In a break with tradition my spot was sheltered so no need for a midnight relocation as per my trip last June. I lay awake for a while listening to the rise and fall of the wind and looking at the moon shining down on me before again nodding off, daylight being the next thing to wake me.
It was 8am and the dawn chorus was in full flow. I'd heard geese and swans on the nearby Peppermill res the previous evening but now it was a variety of small birdies, giving it their all in response to the rising sun. Joy. Its such a relaxing noise and better yet I heard a woodpecker hammering into a nearby tree. Breakfast was a leisurely affair as I was in no rush. A brief sprinkle of rain came in but as I packed up the sun was shining.
It was breezy though but in light of the (rare) sunshine I figured on a longer ride than just heading straight home. I followed more familiar trails north, eventually landing in Dollar, now home to a very welcome Stevens bakery. A steak and haggis pie plus a large cup of splosh made a fine second breakfast whilst I contemplated my next move.
Clouds were hanging around up top so a lower traverse of my favourite range of hills seemed a better bet. Of course I was on my newly single speeded Jones so this would also serve as a test of how I could deal with a loaded one gear bike over rough and steep terrain.
Up and up I went, climbing on road steeply out of Dollar before picking up a track that loops round a block of forestry. Ride a bit, walk a bit, ride a bit, walk a lot. This is the single speed rhythm. On a whim and a desire to scope out future bivvy spots, I diverted off the main drag into a fire break. As usual, this ended in an area of clear fell through which I battled before discovering a cleared single track up the hill. This topped out at a spot I hoped to bivvy at but someone had beaten me to it. Bits of old tarp, bottles of water, a fire site, litter and spades. Obviously a trail building base camp but somewhere I would avoid on spring or summer evenings as the locals would likely be in residence.
A bit of faffing saw me follow a trail which I then lost but I managed to descend through the trees back to the fire road. Then it was across the moor to Seamab hill on a great trail which was a challenge on one (wrong) gear.
Back on track and looking down to Glen Quey res.
Seamab hill with the Lomonds in the background, home to the right.
Down then up followed by a lot of down (I mean a lot, this is a great descent with some hairy off camber bits) to Muckart. Then it was a leisurely roll back home by my usual route of trails and back roads.
Seamab hill with the Lomonds in the background, home to the right.
Down then up followed by a lot of down (I mean a lot, this is a great descent with some hairy off camber bits) to Muckart. Then it was a leisurely roll back home by my usual route of trails and back roads.
My only free weekend in March is the last one so it should be lighter, warmer and drier!
