Barren Land

I have been in Scotland again – a place which calls me back time and time again. Though at times I pine for the benevolent weather which a country like Spain can offer me I pine at other times for the savagery of a landscape shaped by less kind weather events than those typical of Spain. Cycling in Scotland can be a battle with those weather events.

On 27 September 2014 I rode from Altnaharra to Tain. With a serious storm raging, there was no way I would have set out on my bike if I'd been at home. But I was on a group holiday and eleven other people had no option but to ride – there was one space in the van, but why should I take it? That would have been cowardly. I couldn't show cowardice with all those people to witness me doing so, even if I'd been minded to do so.

But it was hardly safe. I weigh 8 stone and an ounce or two, and strong winds deflect me with ease. I set off from Altnaharra, which only the day before had seemed like a peaceful green oasis in a sea of hills flanked by russet-edged grass seeming to glow as though each blade was on fire. Now there was no peace, the wind battered the hollow and every tree, every fiery blade of grass was bent to the winds' will. I rode slowly uphill into the teeth of the storm; every few hundred metres ahead of me and behind was a cyclist, each of us taking our turn to be stopped dead by gusts which played tricks on our steering.

But it was beautiful. More than that, it was breathtaking. I cannot describe the intensity of the colours, or the contrast between the desolation and the exquisite beauty of the desolation. This contrast, and the epic, savage stormy weather, excited me. The landscape, and the forces which shape it; the wind which moulds it, and the rain which colours it. A sudden rainbow gave a striking representation of the feelings in my heart.

I fought the wind to descend to a greener, quieter valley, and to my accommodation for the night. I had ridden just 43 miles but I was as proud of my ride as if it had been twice that – it had been quite as hard as twice the distance would have been on a calm day. Sometimes, it's the quality that counts.

In fact, it almost always is.