This is Day 1 of a multi-day adventure from Aberdeen to Inverness-ish (Stage 3 of my ride around Britain). For this part I was joined by my sister Liz, her husband Paul, and our friend Dawn.
LET’S UNPACK
This was the third stage of my round Britain cycling tour, but this next stretch, from Aberdeen to Inverness, would be very different. My sister Liz, her husband Paul, and their friend Dawn would be joining me.
It was one of the few times I’d shared one of my adventures. I’m used to travelling alone, free to follow my own rhythm, so riding with others, even a small group, felt like stepping into a different kind of journey.
Liz is thirteen years younger than me. We’re sisters, but our lives have run in different lanes, shaped by different stages and priorities. We’ve always cared for each other, but we’ve never really travelled side by side. Until now.
Dawn is a friend Liz had recently reconnected with over a shared love of gardening. I’d only met her a couple of times. She seemed kind and calm, with a good sense of humour, and was happy to be part of whatever this trip turned out to be.
Paul, Liz’s husband, would drive Trixie, their new caravan, from site to site. He was our support crew, mechanic, logistics man, and occasional cyclist, often riding out to meet us, or sweeping up from behind like a one-man broom wagon.
Liz and Paul were still reeling from the recent, sudden loss of their son, Joe. On the way north, they’d broken their journey to visit the Scots Pine named in Joe’s memory in the woodland of my friends, Debbie and Iain, on the last stage of this tour.
So that’s how we set out: three Spokeys and a Blokey. No one quite knew how the dynamic would work. Least of all me. But maybe that was the point. This was as much a journey of people as it was of places. There was a lot to unpack—and I was curious to see where it would lead.
Joining the Road: From Station to Scented Trails
I had travelled up by train, bike in tow, while Liz, Paul and Dawn came up in Trixie. We joined forces on the main road in Dyce and our route began at the far end of Dyce railway station. With nervous anticipation, we set off along a cycle path where the bright gorse quickly laced the air with its heady, coconut scent.
This section of National Cycle Route 1 (NCN1) follows the path of the Formartine and Buchan Railway, a 19th-century line that once connected Aberdeen to the harbours at Fraserburgh and Peterhead. Although silent now, its memory remains etched in the structures and buildings we cycled past: disused bridges, fragments of platforms, even the remnants of old stations.
Meanwhile, Paul took Trixie ahead to Aden Country Park to set up camp and to do a bit of exploring of his own. He even managed to get to the New Slains Castle – yes, the Dracula castle, and passed the grounds of a certain well-known American’s golf course—yes, that one.
Pitmedden’s Charm and Cake Culture
A mid-morning detour took us to Pitmedden Garden, a National Trust treasure tucked behind stone walls that have stood since 1675.
First, we stopped for a cuppa. Two of us had scones. Liz opens her own garden through the National Garden Scheme each year, serving homemade scones and tea. She’s always keen to sample others to see how they measure up.
We then wandered through The Great Garden, originally laid out by Sir Alexander Seton, which follows an intricate 17th-century design. We saw volunteers busily planting lobelia and geraniums for the summer displays. The box hedging, once the garden’s hallmark, was being replaced with yew, a response to the creeping box blight. At the heart of the garden stands a multi-faced sundial, dating from around the same time the garden was laid out, crafted not just to tell time by sun, but rumoured to work as a moon dial on clear nights.
The Chain Incident
As we left Pitmedden, heading for the main road, disaster struck.
My bike chain jammed. Not just slipped off, but properly jammed between gear and frame. I’d usually take a beat with that kind of thing: take my helmet off, have a drink of water, breathe, think it through. Liz, on the other hand, went straight into problem-solving mode, all hands and urgency.
We tussled a bit there, me ready to slow down, her keen to fix it fast. Eventually, I let her take charge. And to her credit, she had the good idea to turn the bike upside down to see if gravity might help. Who made the final movement that freed the chain? I’d say it was me. Liz would say it was her. Doesn’t matter. It came loose. The three of us whooped, high-fived, and hugged.
Dawn had been standing nearby, not getting drawn into the tug-of-war, just quietly supportive of both of us, smiling, happy to be part of the ride. That balance would come to define her role on the trip: steady, kind, and never in the way, and giving us plenty of things to smile about.
The Spokeys had fixed it, and we were quietly pleased not to have to call out the Blokey. A small but satisfying win.
Looking back, that moment set the tone. The dynamics that emerged on this first day would shape how we moved together for the rest of the trip. We found a way. A team.
Detours and Dilemmas
To avoid retracing our route, I suggested we head south for a while to reach the estuary and then up the coast to our next destination, Cruden Bay. Liz was not too keen on this idea. Even less so when we found ourselves first on a gravel track with Chesil Beach-type stones which meant we had to push our bikes, and then on to no track at all—just an open field.
I heard the cry, “This is not NCN1!”
I could feel the tension rise between me and Liz. Where I lean into the journey, open to the unexpected, the scenic detour, Liz is much more about getting to the point, about efficiency and knowing what’s ahead. She’d let me take the lead for a while, but it clearly wasn’t working for her. After the field adventure, I told her where I thought we should go next and handed the reins over. Liz took the lead with clarity, and from that point on, the system worked well.
We navigated a daunting road crossing and finally found a more forgiving trail over a war memorial bridge, bordered by whispering reed beds.
It was good, actually important, that we were able to spot the friction and adjust without drama. A quiet rebalancing. No big talk. Just a shift that made the ride smoother for all of us.
A Wise Pause
Once back on track, the countryside opened out again. Lanes flanked by gorse, lambs stumbling through fields, and the discovery that Liz is apparently a cow whisperer (thanks to her red jacket). The roads were quiet and drivers gave us a wide berth, but we were battling strong northwesterly winds. By the time we reached Cruden Bay around 5pm, the idea of extending the ride to Slains Castle or the puffin viewpoint lost its charm. It would’ve pushed the day beyond 50 miles.
We decided to stop there and rethink our options. Dawn decided not to push on. Rather than risk doing too much too soon, she called in the broom wagon. There was no judgement from Liz or me. Far from it. It was a smart call, and a reminder that knowing your limits is part of the strength, not a failure. Both Liz and I would end up relying on Paul ourselves in the days to come.
While we waited, we found a café by the shore. It was beautiful, and quiet in the right way. We sat, rested, and reflected. That pause felt just as important as the miles behind us.
Then Liz and I put our heads down and rode the final 14 miles back to the campsite. She stayed with me the whole way, steady and supportive, helping me hold a rhythm I might not have kept on my own.
Meanwhile, Paul and Dawn had already made it back and pitched the tents that Dawn and I would sleep in. When Liz and I returned, they were off again, fetching fish and chips from the local chippy.
We ate like royalty around the table: haddock, still hot and crisp, washed down with white wine (for Dawn and me), beer (for the Blokey), and red wine and Tango (for Liz). Yes, both. At the same time. Did I mention my sister’s a bit… off? But we wouldn’t have her any other way.
We were beginning to settle into the dynamic that made this adventure something special. Not just the miles, but the way we moved through them. Each of us bringing something the others could lean on. The Spokeys and the Blokey were starting to click.
Looking Ahead
There’s value in a day that doesn’t go perfectly to plan. We learned things: about route-finding, about how satisfying it is to fix a bike together, and about when to bend the plan to suit the moment. More than anything, there was joy in beginning. These railway tracks and garden paths held centuries of stories, and now they hold ours too.
Liz had told us something her son Joe often said to her: “It’s about the journey, Mum, not just the destination” She admitted she’d never quite got it, but thought maybe she should try. That stayed with me. Because that’s been my way for a long time—letting the path, not just the plan, shape the experience.
Goals help us move forward, yes—but gripping them too tightly can flatten the landscape. Turn the unknown into something rigid and dull.
Book for the Day: A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit
This day brought us off course in the best way. A day of improvisation and unfolding, of watching Liz begin to understand that the journey is the thing. Solnit’s words echo that perfectly—especially the idea that what we truly need is often found in the unknown. This ride, with its detours and breakdowns, asked us to loosen our grip on certainty. And in doing so, we found something better than planned.
I think Joe would be pleased to know that his mum is willing to give it a go. And I hope she keeps going.
“That thing the nature of which is totally unknown to you is usually what you need to find, and finding it is a matter of getting lost.”
—Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost
Recommended Highlights
Reading
This was Day 1 of our 5-day tour
- Day 2 – A Working Rhythm
- Day 3 – The Final Breakdown
- Day 4 & 5 – A Highland Farewell
With thanks to ChatGPT for helping research, structure, and grammar check this post.
No Route Map: Still Learning, Still Looking 
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