This is Day 3 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. If you want to start from the beginning, Day 1 is here.
A Makers Market and a Jet Wash
When we had arrived in Banff the day before, Liz had spotted a sign for a Makers Market so we decided to drop in before heading up the coast. First to Portsoy (famous for its ice cream), then to Cullen (famous for its cullen skink), and finally to our campsite near Fochabers. This would be our final day of cycling; tomorrow was reserved for the Highland Games at Gordon Castle.
We reached the market, held at The Harvest Centre, just before it opened at 10am. As luck would have it, a charity car wash was also underway. Paul, ever the blokey, had already commented on the state of my bike, which hadn’t seen water since my solo ride into Aberdeen a few weeks before this trip. So I took advantage and left it for a much-needed clean. Blokeys (and that includes mechanically minded girlies), don’t click this link: Car Wash Banff
While my bike got its wash, Liz, Dawn and I wandered up to the Castle Gardens overlooking Banff Bay. Like so many of the bays we’d seen along this coast, it opened up in a wide, cinematic sweep.
Earrings, Ice Cream, and Dawn-isms
Back at the market, my bike was sparkling and ready for action. We browsed the stalls, and I bought a pair of earrings made in Portsoy. The vendor confirmed what we already hoped: Portsoy was the place to go for ice cream.
We followed the coast road north—sea views on one side, green hills on the other—and arrived in Portsoy. We parked up, made our choices from the ice cream shop, and sat in the sun outside the church across the street.
As we ate, the village coffee morning was wrapping up. Dawn watched a group of young dancers leave the hall and said, “Look—morris dancers!”
We were in Scotland. Outside a community hall. The dancers were young girls in tartan skirts.
Liz and I exchanged a look. Morris dancers?
Yes—another classic Dawn-ism. Given her mix-up in the toilets the day before, perhaps she just has a rather fluid take on gender cues. In today’s world, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. But it did make us laugh.
A Quiet Stop in Fordyce
After Portsoy and before heading on to Cullen, we had a short stop at Fordyce and its atmospheric old churchyard, a site of Christian worship for over a thousand years. The current remains date back to the 13th century, with the bell tower added in 1661. In one corner, we found the old tombs of the Ogilvies of Findlater and Boynr. We had a bit of a shock when we found a stone figure lying in full armour, apparently said to be from around 1510.
Then it was back on the bikes, heading toward Cullen and the promise of cullen skink.
Cullen Skink and the Weight of Expectations
We met Paul in the town square and went straight to Lily’s Café.
Lily had won the cullen skink championship in March. Now, we are not cullen skink connoisseurs but unfortunately, we were not won over. It was better than the one the day before in Turriff and certainly better value than one Liz and I had in Glasgow earlier in the year. And maybe it was too soon after the Portsoy ice-creams, and it was ok – with fresh chunks of fish in a creamy sauce, but it wasn’t quite hot enough and didn’t really hit the spot. So, this was one of those experiences that didn’t match up to expectations. It had brought us to Cullen though and we all agreed that was a good move.
Quite often on my trips, I wish I’d give myself more time to look around and Cullen was one of those places, full of interesting antique shops, and a picture-postcard view through the arched viaduct that connects Cullen with the adjacent fishing village of Seatown which again, would be well worth exploring. Next time, maybe…
Paul had spotted a structure on the hill overlooking Seatown and the youngsters went up to explore what turned out to be the remains of Cullen Castle, once a medieval motte-and-bailey. Not much remains, but the views over the bay apparently made the climb worthwhile. I was happy to see the same view from a bench lower down.
The Coastal Ride and a Mechanical Meltdown
From Cullen we picked up the Moray Coast Cycle Route—quiet paths and old railway lines winding along the shoreline. We passed through Portknockie and Findochty, admiring the sculpted rocks carved by wind and sea.
Then, as we were leaving Strathlene—disaster. A loud crash, a clunk, and my chain came off. Worse: the derailleur spring had gone. Thankfully, Paul was on hand with his toolkit and cable ties. He patched it well enough to get me to Buckie, and civilisation. I was the last of the Spokeys to be rescued by the Blokey.
And then, unexpectedly, everything fell into place.
When The Universe Aligns
The last three miles to Buckie were tarmacked, downhill, and gloriously easy—possibly the smoothest ride of the whole trip. At Lidl, I checked my phone: a bus to the campsite was due in 20 minutes. We locked my bike to the railings outside the police station (handily opposite) and I later phoned 101 to let them know it wasn’t an explosive device. “We’ll be back later,” I said.
The bus arrived on time and dropped me right at the campsite entrance. I was expecting a long wait for the others, but Paul, who never forgets these things, had left the car door unlocked. I could get my shower stuff and a change of clothes.
The shower block usually needs a code, but the door was open. And the shower, hot, powerful, utterly glorious. Possibly the best of the trip.
Silver Linings and Friction
When the others arrived, Paul and I went back to pick up the bike and on our return I saw Liz returning from the shower. “Wasn’t that a brilliant shower?” I asked Liz.
“No. It wasn’t,” she replied. “Only two showers on the whole site, nowhere to sit, nowhere to hang your clothes.”
I felt momentarily deflated. Not just about the shower—but about how easily something lovely, for me, had been flattened by her truth. Liz doesn’t mean to do it. Her honesty is just how she processes, and I admire her for it. . But sometimes, it’s also okay to let someone enjoy their moment.
At the same time, I’ve come to see how my own habit, of looking for the silver lining, may seem naive. Or dismissive. Or just… a bit much, when things really aren’t okay. Liz isn’t the only person to have pointed this out to me.
There was a flicker of friction between us after that. But then came a punnet of juicy Aberdeenshire grown strawberries which Liz had picked up. An extra bottle of wine was purchased (we had a rest day ahead), and a merry evening’s entertaining game of Rummikub, which I let Liz win.
And all was right with the world again.
(Liz proofreads these blog posts—so some of those last few words may mysteriously disappear in future editions.)
Book for the Day: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Pirsig
This book was ‘cool’ when I was a teenager, but I only read it to the end many years later. It can be a difficult book to get to grips with – some of it is actually about motorcycle maintenance. But Pirsig also explores philosophical themes, one of which is the dichotomy between Classical and Romantic worldviews: the Romantic, focused on feeling and experience, and the Classical, focused on structure and function.
That contrast played out between Liz and me in the shower block. I came out glowing—feeling, for a brief moment, that my universe had aligned. Liz, ever practical, saw poor design: only two showers, nowhere to hang anything, nothing to sit on.
She wasn’t wrong. But neither was I.
Pirsig reminds us that both views are valid, and that real understanding might come from holding both at once.
“Persons tend to think and feel exclusively in one mode or the other and in doing so tend to misunderstand and underestimate what the other mode is all about.
Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
Neither one is better than the other. They just are.”
Recommended Highlights
Reading
This was Day 3 of our 5-day tour
- Day 1 – Finding our Flow
- Day 2 – A Working Rythm
- Day 4 and 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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