You set off just after dawn. It's cold, but you're dressed for it. A band of cloud rises with the sun, softening the shadows for the first hour of your ride. Wind turbine blades flop lazily in a gentle breeze and there's a hint of woodsmoke in the air, its pleasant tang somehow enhanced by the chill. You head along the back road to Auchengray. You don't know what it is about this stretch, but you always feel happy riding it. Passing through the village, you cut up right to the Lang Whang, where you coast joyously down the hill that welcomes you to West Lothian. The ground rises again and, just before its highest point, you turn down to Harperrig Reservoir. You've pictured it from the main road but you think you can get a better view if you follow the single-track that is sign-posted 'Colzium'. You're right. It is exquisite. There's a castle you didn't know existed and the Pentlands reflect almost perfectly on the still surface. A half-submerged fence looks like it might make a good subject for a picture but the angle's wrong. If you chance crossing this boggy bit you might get a decent sh...
Sheet! My pretentious 2nd person narrative is brought to an abrupt end because I am suddenly, and literally, sinking up to my bahookie in cold, reedy-brown water. I clamber out, briefly wondering why my first thought was, "Save the camera!" Then I stand in the December sun and laugh, loud and hard, for about ten minutes.
Now I’ve got a problem. As I ride towards Kirknewton, my cycling tights begin to dry, all except the padding. I realise it’s going to be a while before I can risk going into a café and sitting down without being the epicentre of an unfortunate scoosh of now-tepid reedy-brown water. In the end, it’s Bathgate before I chance it and even then, I have a guilty backwards glance at my seat when I get up to leave.
Home via the cycle path, bailing out at Harthill, without further incident.
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