hubris ˈhjuːbrɪs/ Noun
1. Excessive pride or self-confidence.
2. (in Greek tragedy) Excessive pride towards or defiance of the gods, leading to nemesis.

Yesterday we taunted the gods with talk of upping the pace and feeling stronger by the day. This morning they laughed in our collective faces and took their vengeance, with Geoff’s knee the agent of our (near) destruction. What do they say about pride coming before a fall?

With an 11am ferry to catch and a 15-mile trek across Arran before we could board on the far side of the island, time was of the essence this morning. So naturally, this was the perfect moment for the Dawg’s knee to balloon to the size of a football. He’s been managing (slash moaning about!) a chronic knee condition for the past couple of months, and has so far coped brilliantly with the rigours of the trip. But the introduction of a 1000-foot climb whilst he was still digesting his breakfast was almost too much to bear, and seriously threatened our need to hit our daily mileage – and Geoff’s ability to continue the trip, period. At one point I think he was seriously considering jacking it in.

Tears, anger and anguished shouts to the heavens – and that was just me and Bailey – were much in evidence as the first hour ticked by. But somehow, we managed to talk/cajole/bully him through the pain barrier and make it to Brodick in time to get the boat back to the mainland. It wasn’t pretty, but damn, it was effective. In fact, we’ve come up with a term for our attempts to coax him through the mental side of the trip: Dawg Handling. So far it’s involved a mixture of carrot and stick, and the patient appears to be responding well to treatment; I’ll keep you posted with our progress. Stay positive mate, stay positive!

It emphasizes how critical the psychological aspect is: we’re all now fit enough to do this, it’s within our physical capabilities – provided we can overcome the demons plaguing us with doubt. Geoff did that today, and at 85 miles it ended up being our longest ride of the trip. Good effort.

It was a shame, because his discomfort overshadowed some more magnificent scenery as we crossed Arran. We’ve become a bit spoilt by all the amazing places we’ve journeyed through so far – somewhat blasé, even – but that was to be thrown into sharp relief once we reached the mainland and started to make our way down through the heavily populated Ayrshire conurbation.

On the boat we’d bumped into a couple of other local cyclists who we’re full of good advice, and we we’re grateful to Jim Duggan (holder of the world record for the fastest ever circuit of Arran, doncha know) for leading us through the early part of the ride and helping us find the start of the cycle path. From there we followed Sustrans route 7 all the way down through Irvine, Prestwick and on to Troon.

The path was ok at first, taking us through woodland, along the sea front and past the famous Royal Troon golf course. However, as we approached Ayr it became more industrial – as well as torturously slow and winding. And the potholes! Ayrshire must have some of most poorly maintained roads in the UK. We were finding it hard to pick up any speed or get into a rhythm, and the final straw came when the route took us off one road, over a really steep cobbled bridge, through a pedestrian precinct, down a lane for about 200 metres, past some charming ASBOs who greeted us with a cheery “hey f#*kheads!” then dumped us back out on the same road we just left – only 10 metres further on. Aargh!

We resolved to leave NCN7 behind and hit the B-roads, and immediately began to reap the benefits. Our route took us down through Maybole and Straiton (where we stopped at the brilliant Buck Cafe, a cyclist-run place that provided much-needed sustenance as well as some great route advice) and over the moors to Dalmellington – the same road as they use for the Scottish hill climbing championships. Yikes! From there it was a clear run through to St John’s, where we all found ourselves getting stronger, even accelerating up the hills. Even so, the sight of the Clachan Inn, our destination for the night, was a welcome sight!

Bailey described it best: today was a mix of the good, the bad and the ugly. The good (Arran/ the last 40 miles), the bad (Geoff’s knee) and the ugly (a big chunk of fairly grim urban riding, as well as some of the worst road surfaces in the UK). It seems strange to think that this time tomorrow we’ll be back in the mother country. Bring it on!