BLOWING OFF THE DUST

My "good" bicycle lives hoisted up out of the way into the ceiling space of a room in my apartment, and the other day I lowered it down, only to find a thin coating of dust covered all the surfaces due to its lack of use recently.

It was time for a bicycle tour.

As ever, Pauline can be relied upon to uncover a little gem of a route, and over a leisurely long weekend we headed out to the west to Inverclyde and Renfrewshire.

This had never been an area on my list of places to cycle, and we had toyed with heading to Oban, but having both cycled there recently we opted to find something new.

Our route started in Port Glasgow on the shores of the Clyde, once a centre of shipbuilding and responsible for a quarter of the total tonnage of ships built in the area, the industry has all but gone bar one privately owned shipyard.

It started life as a small fishing hamlet called Newark, and in 1780, due mainly to large ships being unable to navigate the shallow waters to Glasgow, shipyards started to spring up and it's new name was adopted. From the early 1800s the Clyde was deepened and Port Glasgow's fate was sealed.

Heading almost due south we started off on the disused Greenock & Johnstone railway, converted to a fantastic cycle path now called the Clyde to Forth Cycle route.

The start to our day had been delayed by a spoke breaking on my rear wheel, but as we had planned short days this had only a marginal affect on our timings. It did mean however that just 8 miles on it was time for coffee and cake elevenses.

We pulled off the cycle path into a small settlement I had not heard of before, called Quarriers Village.

Founded in 1876 as The Orphan Homes of Scotland by shoemaker and philanthropist William Quarrier, it had a grand feel to it. He had a vision having been brought up poor and shoeless in the city, vowing to make a difference for children in need in the future.

His idea was simple; instead of large, depressing dorms, he built individual grand residences in the countryside setting, with each house run by a house mother and father. Following the end of WWI there were over a thousand orphans at Quarriers. Built using donations from himself and friends it was enormously successful, and though not an orphanage anymore, a charity headquartered in the village continues charitable work today.

Within the old school was a busy coffee shop called Three Sisters Bake,  and judging by the lack of available tables it too was successful.

As we continued south on the cycle path as far as Lochwinnoch, rain started to fall, light at first but soaking us through. We were near day ones end, but too early to set up camp, so there was nothing for it but to pass the time in coffee shop number two, The Junction, in Lochwinnoch.

Day two was a foggy start, and the tents were sopping wet in the morning at our chosen camp spot, four or five miles west of Lochwinnoch into Muirshiel Regional Park.

Our main goal for this day was to visit the island of Cumbrae, and to give us more time on the island we opted to follow the main road into Largs, a decision we would regret because of the moronic dangerous drivers using this route, passing too close to us at speed, often with vehicles approaching in the opposite direction and at times on a blind bend!

With historic links to the Vikings from the 11th century, in the 19th and 20th century Largs became a popular seaside resort. Despite its diminishing status as a holiday resort, it still markets itself as such. But we were here for one reason; to catch the CalMac ferry across to the small island of Cumbrae.

With a circumference of just 14 miles, it was a short pootle round, but with the absence of cars and the sun shining it was the highlight of the trip.

We stopped for our lunch and to dry out our wet camping gear in the small village of Millport on the western tip.

In the centre of the village is the impressive Garrison House, built in 1745 as barracks, it would later become a strategic base for Customs & Excise, given the islands location.

Looking west from the bay that the village main street wraps around, the craggy ramparts of Goat Fell and the Achir Ridge on the island of Arran gave for an impressive backdrop.

Our visit to Cumbrae was all too short, and by mid afternoon we were heading north out of Largs to our last wild camp in the hills above.

Dry tents welcomed us on the third morning, and after a leisurely start to the day we continued north toward Port Glasgow.

Almost halfway we took a detour to the Greenock Cut visitor centre on the shores of Loch Thom. Built in the 1820s, the Greenock Cut is essentially a viaduct to supply water from  Loch Thom to the town of Greenock. The designated circuit of the Greenock Cut is more of a walking route, and with our heavily laden bicycles we decided to forego the route on this occasion, but vowed to return soon to wander it's seven mile way.

From Loch Thom we turned east, through forest and alongside small reservoirs, to rejoin the original cycle path and the short distance back into Port Glasgow.

Before leaving Edinburgh I had a preconception of our three days never being free of urban sprawl, but I was pleasantly surprised, and it served well to blow the dust and cobwebs off my bike.

THE LAST BATTLE

A pretty significant thing happened in Musselburgh, a coastal town near to where I live, in 1547. And I don't mean at around 10 to 4 in the afternoon.

But first, let me digress.

A couple of years ago I was filming with a large bunch of teenagers, an abridged version of Shakespeare's Macbeth, in and around Craigmillar Castle, about a half hour walk from my apartment in Portobello. It was there that Mary Queen of Scots convalesced after the difficult birth of her son James at Edinburgh Castle in June 1566. She was just 22 years old, and when she was born in late 1542, England and Scotland were two separate countries very much at each others throat.

Henry VIII, who Mary was a great-niece to, had tried to secure an alliance with the Scots by marrying her to his young son, the future Edward VI. But when that failed he tried to do so by force. Scotland entered into an alliance with France in response to Henry VIII declaration of war, which became known as the Rough Wooing.

Though Henry died in early 1547, his successors continued on to try to force Scotland to unite, and in September 1547, they clashed at Pinkie Cleugh, just a half hour walk east from my home now.

The skirmish would become known as the first modern battle, when newly invented artillery and hand held guns were used, in conjunction with traditional bows and arrows.

On a cold but clear February afternoon, Pauline and I set off on a marked path we had no idea even existed, starting at the Roman Bridge in Musselburgh.

To walk across this bridge is to walk in the footsteps of ancient history. 2,000 years ago, the Romans built a bridge here. It was rebuilt on these original foundations in the 1300s, and on an autumn day in 1547, the Scots army would use that bridge, the one we now stood on, to cross the River Esk, and reposition themselves at a higher elevation, during what is known as the Battle of Pinkie Cleugh.

The path we were following led us up old stone steps to the graveyard of St Michael's Church, which commands a breathtaking view, uninterrupted across the Firth of Forth, though the Scots army were not particularly interested in the view in the same way we were. It was clear to see why both armies wanted this position in the battle. Though the Scots reached this position first, the English army were dominant in their superior fire power, and quite literally blew the Scots away, who fled toward the south.

As we left the church grounds we headed east and through the historic village of Inveresk, with it's 18th century buildings, but even in 1547 there would have been a village here, which sits on the edge of the south side of Musselburgh. The path then leaves the now busy road and heads out to farm land, with clear views across and up to Fa'side Castle, which sits atop the faraway ridge.

It was on the slopes of this hill, and the fields in front of us, that 10,000 Scots would meet their deaths at the hands of the superior force of the English, in what was the bloodiest battle of all time up to that point.

It was a devastating defeat to the Scots, but within two years the alliance with France drove the English out of Scotland. The marriage of Mary to Edward had failed to unite the two countries, which would not happen for another 53 years.

The Battle of Pinkie Cleugh would be the last major battle between the two countries. Mary's son James, born just the year before, would go on to be crowned James VI of Scotland, and James I of England, inheriting the throne from Elizabeth I, and thus uniting the crowns, and creating the United Kingdom.

It astonishes me to know that this piece of history is so close to my home, and I've never given it any attention, until now.

With the light failing we cut short our walk through history and turned back toward Musselburgh and coffee and cake, and to plan our return another day soon.