Perth | COMPLEAT TROWZER

It’s an odd thing: when I bought my 1915 Sunbeam (see here and here) I’d have thought I might spend the summer on it – yet here we are in Autumn and my rides have been few and far between. Of course, things have happened, but still…

So this morning, having slept in and missed my usual start to the day, I decided to make another change – instead of going for a walk (a regime I have been following faithfully of late) I would take that much-delayed cycle outing. It was Autumn weather as fine as you could wish for, the Michaelmas daisies in bloom

and the low sun sidelighting trees and houses and casting long shadows on the road

Does a sunbeam have a shadow? This one does:

I had opted for a familiar route, a clockwise circular round the outskirts of Perth, but I varied the start a little, swooping down to join the path round Craigie Hill a little further on than is my wont – forgetting that where there is swooping down, there is often a need for climbing up; so I was reminded of that often-overlooked advantage of the bicycle, that you can always get off and walk if you have to:

Probably the most pleasing thing about an Autumn run is the angle of the light and the effects it creates, especially combined with the changing colours of the trees

Though sometimes black-and-white evokes the light conditions better – a curious phenomenon:

I am becoming practised at using the phone-camera while under way, though I should perhaps look at some sort of handlebar mounting: there is a tension created between the desire to record the moment and the pleasure of cycling on.

this path is already well-documented [here] and although much of it is fine well-metalled cyclepath of a good width, I rather like those parts that remind you how minimal a cycle path can be –

Where the track broadened again (but with a pleasing central strip of grass) I came on a fine sight up ahead, a bar of sunlight lying across the path like fiery gold – sadly, the phone does not do it justice:

After running much of the way by leafy paths hemmed in by trees, the route turns Northward, opening a pleasing vista of the distant hills:

and the low-angled sun strikes pleasingly on the gold-leaf adornments of the Sunbeam:

The path from here runs down an escarpment by way of a narrow lane much overhung by trees:

till it opens out and you are confronted by a splendid glowing beech-tree:

After crossing the Crieff Road, the downward trend continues, till the welcome landmark of the clocktower heaves into view:

What seems an unpromising cul-de-sac actually leads to a narrow path that takes you almost at once onto the banks of the Almond, where if you are lucky, you might continually glimpse a great Grey Heron as you ride along, and if you are unlucky, never quite manage to capture it on camera:

The path along the Almond makes such pleasant cycling that I am always loth to stop; so after diving under three bridges – the disused railway one that carries the cycle path North to Luncarty, then the one that carries the A9 North to Inverness, then the active railway line that carries the main line to the North, you come at last to the confluence of the Almond and the Tay, and see that the anglers are both out and in, some on the bank, some in the water, while on the far bank a little grey Fergie tractor sends up a plume of smoke:

(rendered here in the style of Constable)
While on the water the fish make rings, rising to the flies

A pause by a signpost marks the start of the next leg

which takes us along the brilliant green of the North Inch

In the direction of the Fair City, with the spires pointing heavenwards (the right hand one is St John’s Kirk; the old name for Perth is St John’s Toun, which is preserved in its football team, St Johnstone – they won the Scottish Cup this year)

A swift passage along Tay St, past the old and new bridges and the railway bridge, and round by the old waterworks that is now the Fergusson Gallery, takes us to the South Inch, and the final leg of our journey, where on the pond we pass the swans and their cygnets sailing line ahead like battleships:

and so home, exhilarated.

(The map for this route can be found here)

Well, after a dull morning, the sun came out and so did I. Early on it had shown all the promise of a classic Autumn day – bright sun, a nip in the air, trailers of mist on the hills – but then it all went grey and I thought I wouldn’t bother. Then in the afternoon the clouds dispersed and I though it was too good a day to waste indoors. I found with shame that both my serviceable mounts – the Dream Roadster and the 1934 Royal Sunbeam – needed air in their tyres. Was it so long since I had been out?

After a brief consideration I chose the Sunbeam: it suited the day better, somehow. Before setting out a buzzing made me look up and there was a microlight enjoying what must have been a beautiful view. You need good eyes to see the microlight, but I like the accidental saltire made by the wires – and what a fine sky!

What route to choose? I decided to take the old road to the West out of Perth which starts with a long climb called Necessity Brae. This makes a fine pairing with the splendidly-named Needless Road, which runs off the Glasgow Road into Craigie. To get there, I decided to take the route round Craigie Hill – it being the especial pleasure of the cyclist to go by secret ways and strange, where motor cars cannot.

This path swoops around the base of Craigie Hill under a leafy canopy for much of the way:

Necessity Brae is a strenuous climb in low gear but a merciful bend hides the upper section and keeps you going. This is the view looking back to Perth

at the top, you are rewarded with brambles, or blackberries, if you prefer.

They never tasted better: solar-powered Blackberries.

And here we see that great rarity, a Sunbeam recumbent:

It’s a good viewing point – you can look North East, across to Strathmore, with Kinnoull Hill on the right,

or North to the Grampians

The Brae takes you up out of Strathtay, the valley of the Tay, and over a shoulder of land to Strathearn, the broad and splendid valley of the Earn.

There is a fine descent into Strathearn, but age brings caution: I enjoy going down hills, but no longer at full-tilt as I did in my youth. I find the conviction that I am immortal has weakened with the years.

Once down, I swung back Eastward towards Craigend and so to Perth.

There are a couple of handsome railway bridges over the Earn, where the lines out of Perth branch South to Edinburgh and West to Glasgow. This is the Westward route:

and this is the Southern route, marching away across fields of gold, while the Western route runs across the middle ground:

A fine bush of red berries made me think of Seamus Heaney and The Haw Lantern, though these I think were hips.

Further on I found what I think were haws, but I am open to correction. My father told us often on country walks, but alas! I did not heed him well enough.

Approaching Craigend I was surprised by a stiff ascent and exercised the first rule of cycling, ‘it’s all right to walk’.

Remounting, I joined the main road from Edinburgh to Perth, a short climb over the same shoulder I had crossed earlier in the opposite direction. I passed a fellow-cyclist enjoying his share of brambles and really should have been sociable and stopped but I was eager to be home (why? there was no rush) so made do with an exchange of greetings. I caught a glimpse of the classic view of Perth coming from the South East but I fear the picture does not do it justice: