This is Day 2 of a multi-day adventure from Aberdeen to Inverness-ish (Stage 3 of my ride around Britain). This part was shared with my sister Liz, her husband Paul, and our friend Dawn. You can read about Day 1 here
We followed the system we’d worked out on the road yesterday: I’d suggest a rough itinerary, Liz would plot the route, with Dawn slotting in happily with the pair of us. It was simple, and it worked.
After a demanding first day, I proposed a gentler start—an hour or so when the four of us could explore Aden Country Park before the Three Spokeys set off on the 30-mile ride to the coast. The Blokey, Paul would break camp and drive Trixie ahead to set up at the next site, just as he had the day before. It was a good rhythm.
The Jewel of Buchan
Aden Country Park—billed as the Jewel of Buchan—lived up to its name. The new visitor centre, opened in 2024, had a few interactive exhibits, but the real gem was the woodland trail network through the arboretum.
Many of the trees along the trail were numbered but there was no guide to match names to numbers. Still, we found a favourite: tree number six, a towering beauty we later identified as Sequoiadendron giganteum, or giant redwood. A grand name for a grand tree.
Two Cyclists, Two Styles
This was the first time Paul had ridden with us. Watching him sail along the winding paths as though his bike were part of him: confident, nimble, utterly relaxed, was pure joy.
Me? I take a different approach. When the trail turns steep or gravelly, I’m quite content to hop off and walk. Some of that caution comes after breaking my wrist in France last year, Either way, we were just two cyclists reading the same trail in our own ways, and I loved witnessing Paul’s freedom and delight.
When he spotted a rope swing hanging from a tree and launched himself onto it, none of us had the urge to follow, but we cheered him on as he swung high into the air, a big grin on his face.
Quiet Corners and Railway Trails
Back at Trixie, we saddled up once more and rejoined the Formartine and Buchan Way, leaving Paul to pack up and drive ahead to the next camp.
Cycling on the disused railway path to Maud, we passed the towering stone walls of the Aden Estate Walled Garden—a grand, enclosed space once used to grow food for the estate.
A little further on, we saw the ruins of Deer Abbey, a 13th-century Cistercian monastery with a link to the Book of Deer, the earliest known Gaelic writing in Scotland. Two quiet corners of Aberdeenshire, full of stories.
We soon reached Maud, which was once a busy rail junction, where lines split toward Peterhead and Fraserburgh. We turned off onto country roads and picked up on the NCN 1 again and passed farms, cattle in the fields, and frisky young lambs.
Turra Coo and Teenagers
After another 13 miles on the saddle, we rolled into Turriff, a small market town, gathered mostly around one long main street. It looked like a good place to stop for lunch. At first glance, though, we weren’t convinced.
We cycled the length of the street, passing a modest café, some takeaway burger places, and eventually arrived at the Castille Pub. It was shut. We turned back, a little deflated and more than a little hungry.
On our way back up the street, we noticed a life-sized sculpture of a cow in a quiet square. If nothing else, we figured, we could at least get a photo there. What we didn’t realise at the time was that this wasn’t just any cow, it was the Turra Coo, with a curious and rather rebellious history of its own.
There were three lads sitting on a nearby bench. Liz asked if they’d take a photo of us, and as is often the way with teenage groups, all three rose as one, two of them clearly there for moral support. Their ringleader, a confident young man named Gracjan, took the photo.
We got chatting and asked if they could recommend anywhere decent for lunch. Their first suggestion was one of the burger places we’d already passed, but when we said we were after something more along the lines of sandwiches and tea, a lightbulb went on.
“Oh—Celebrations Café!”
Turns out Celebrations isn’t exactly teenage-boy territory but they knew what we were looking for. Tucked just off the main street, it is something of a Turriff institution. Part restaurant, part coffee parlour, part home store, it’s the kind of place where the tea comes properly brewed, the scones are made fresh, and the service still feels like it belongs to another time.
A Twist and a Tumble
The café was not 200 metres from the Turra Coo, so I walked my bicycle there and turned round expecting to see Liz and Dawn following me. What I did see was Dawn holding on to two bicycles and Liz hobbling back from the direction of Turra Coo square. What the ……?
Turns out that one of them had suggested getting a photo of the boys for the blog—at least they are learning something – and Liz had tripped up on one of the steps of the square and twisted over on her ankle.
There was nowhere to secure the bicycles to so we daisy-chained them with our bicycle locks and I set the alarm on my bike so that if any of them were touched, an alarm would ring out through the town.
Taking the first aid kit with us, we went into the restaurant and asked one of the staff, Sandra, for some ice. She was immediately on mission, returning with ice, cloths and advice.
Bike Alarms and Bathroom Blunders
After lunch, cullen skink and a proper pot of tea (when in Turriff… Liz made her decision. She wasn’t calling in the broom wagon. She’d ride on. No arguing with Liz once she’s made up her mind, so we got ready to leave.
Liz and I were waiting outside when Dawn rejoined us, a slightly puzzled expression on her face. “Isn’t it odd,” she said, “that a place like Celebrations, in a town like Turriff, has unisex toilets?”
Liz and I exchanged a glance. “Yeah,” Dawn continued, “there were cubicles and urinals.”
We stared at her, “Are you sure?” we asked.
She looked back at us, paused… and slowly began to realise. “Oh no.”
Now, while Liz and I have our differences, there’s one unfortunate trait we share: an inability to keep it together once the giggles start. It only takes a glance at each other and we’re gone. Helpless. This has, on more than one occasion, led to deeply embarrassing scenes. In fact, there are certain places in England we can no longer visit without risking a flashback, or a formal apology.
So when Dawn admitted she had form for this kind of toilet confusion, that was it. Game over.
The trouble is, these kinds of laughing fits come with consequences. The safest course of action is usually to sit down and hope for the best. Liz will often just sink to the floor which just makes me lose even more control. With no chairs nearby the only option was to mount up and cycle out of Turriff before we caused a scene.
…And that was when I realised the fob for the bike alarm was missing. I’d activated the alarm earlier for security.
We stood there, completely useless, while Dawn, by far the most composed among us, strode back into Celebrations. She passed the same bemused gentleman who had apparently witnessed her earlier toilet confusion from a nearby settee, and with calm efficiency, tracked down a member of staff. Miraculously, someone had already handed the fob in.
About two miles out of Turriff, Dawn suddenly stopped and said, “I think I left my phone at Celebrations.”
Liz and I didn’t even hesitate. In perfect unison:
“We are not going back there.”
The Magic of the In-Between
Some places imprint themselves on a journey because of the unexpected: a helpful trio of lads, a twisted ankle, an unplanned comedy set in a toilet, and a café that turned out to be the heart of the town. Turriff may not have been a planned highlight, but it gave us stories we’ll remember for years.
A River and a Reunion
We soon settled back down into our cycling rhythm, Liz taking the lead, me as backmarker and Dawn in the middle. This stretch between Turriff and Banff is part of a quiet, fertile corner of northeast Scotland, where the river Deveron flows gently to the sea. Its stillness contrasts with the drama of rivers like the Dee or Spey and it has been dubbed the “river of silence” for its tranquil surroundings.
A few miles up the road, we saw the figure of a familiar-looking cyclist. It was Paul, who had cycled back to meet us and give Liz some moral support on the ride back. Earlier, he’d been all carefree energy, swinging from trees and flying down woodland trails. Now, riding quietly at Liz’s side, he brought a different kind of strength. Just steady company, which was exactly what she needed. It reminded me how their support for each other can wear many faces. Sometimes it’s about giving themselves permission to feel joy in the moment; sometimes it’s simply about being still and steady.
We stopped for a rest at the remains of Eden Castle, a 16th-century tower house. Though partly ruined, its structure still hints at its original role as a fortified home. A quiet reminder of this land’s history.
Banff and the Day’s End
A few more miles and then it wasn’t long before we turned onto the main road and our campsite. We did a quick turn around and hopped into the car to Banff. Our first stop was a pharmacy. From there, we wandered over to Morrison’s Local to gather a few supplies.
There, we got a recommendation from Marie for the best place to eat in town: The Market Arms, and we went for a drink to check it out. Yep, it had a good friendly, local vibe and so we booked a table for later, and Liz even managed to set me up with a date. Back at the campsite, we cleaned up a bit. I put on my best (well, only going out) top and a bit of lippy and we arranged a lift with Kenny from Banff Taxis. Not just a driver, Kenny doubled as our local historian.
Dinner at The Market Arms was a proper Scottish affair. There was haggis, neeps and tatties dressed in a rich whisky sauce, alongside a cheeseburger and a hearty lasagna—something for every taste. Liz went full retro for dessert with a Knickerbocker Glory, which she fiercely guarded. Sharing was not on the menu.
By the time we’d polished off the last of our drinks, the day had caught up with us. We hit a collective wall and called it a night, well-fed, a little wiser about the area, and thoroughly knackered.
Another eventful day on the Three Spokeys and a Blokey tour.
Book for the Day: Touching the Void, Joe Simpson
Now, I’m not saying that Liz’s experience, nursing a sprained ankle in Celebrations Café in Turriff, is directly comparable to Joe Simpson dragging himself out of a crevasse in the Peruvian Andes with a shattered right leg, smashed knee, and broken ankle, but there was a certain shared spirit.
Joe had his survival instinct and an ice axe; Liz had a pot of cullen skink and a bag of frozen peas. Both made a decision not to give up, and both saw it through with a kind of quiet, slightly bonkers determination.
No one’s making a movie about our epic adventure day in Turriff (yet), but still, when Liz calmly announced she was riding on, ankle and all, it felt like one of those moments where stubbornness becomes its own kind of grit.
You gotta make decisions. You gotta keep making decisions, even if they’re wrong decisions, you know.
Joe Simpson, Touching The Void
If you don’t make decisions, you’re stuffed.”
Recommended Highlights
Reading
This was Day 2 of our 5-day tour
- Day 1 – Finding our Flow
- 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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