Supplies

I remember sitting in the Kilaptrick Braes enjoying a coffee when a couple of young cyclists approached. One of them looked at me, saw the map, the binoculars, the notebook, the flask of steaming hot lava java, and turned to his mate and said: 'He's got the right idea; he's got supplies!'

It's all about the supplies really. Never leave home without them. If you do, then you are just as mad as this silly economic model the western world labours under. That is, you never stop to breathe in the views, to examine where you are, to simply take note of those soft and quiet words that might pass through this now crystalline body-mind. I often see road cyclists with no supplies whatsoever, and I wonder what they do it for. Would they not be better on a treadmill in a gym? After all, they appear, at that speed, and with that downward trajectory of the head, to be completely oblivious of their surroundings other than the road itself. This is a complete anathema to my sort of cycling. My cycling is a pilgrimage (as well as a form of conscientious objection to the madness of the workaday world), and all pilgrims need some supplies, even if it's only a vade mecum, a little pick-me-up, and a chunk of stale bread. 

What supplies I hear you ask, then?

Well, a map for one. Not an iphone with GPS capabilities, but a hard copy map, made of paper, preferably an OS map (I prefer the Landranger series over the more detailed Explorer series). If you don't want to fork out 7 quid for one (which, I agree, is about 5 quid too much) you can easily get all the maps you want from  Glasgow's extensive library network, or check the route online and mark it in your notebook (not iphone) before you set off.

Secondly, and perhaps more important than a map - a flask of coffee - and some hot lava java to enjoy as a reward when you get up to the top of that climb. Not only is it a worthy reward for all that hard work, but it sure does reinvigorate. There's nothing quite like it really, having coffee on top of a deserted hill with no-one but the birds for company.

Then, I like to take my binoculars (I have a light-weight pair with a great macro facility that allows me to focus on insects that are two feet away, as well as birds that are 200 metres away).Getting to know your 'home' involves being able to identify various creatures that share it with you, whether plants or animals, or indeed rocks. I find a small pair of binoculars an invaluable resource in doing this.

Of course, there are the essentials like a spare tube and patches, and a bicycle pump. These are always in my bag, with a small packet of bandages, just in case.

Liquids. It might seem obvious, but I've seen people climb hills with nothing before, only to return home with a headache because they're dehydrated. Of course, it depends on the weather, but normally, I will always take a small bottle of water (500ml) with me, and a half bottle of lucozade sport (250ml), as well as my flask of coffee. This will do you until you get home where you can, if need be, rehydrate even more.

I also tend to pack a small towel, a light and easily folded rain jacket, a spare t-shirt (in the warmer months), my notebook and pen, and my small digital camera. Like this, I can go anywhere and document it, with view to writing it up when I get home. I find that the processing of these trips whether through a blog or through various other projects I involve myself in, is an essential part to my overall understanding. The processing helps to clarify certain elements of the journey, and aerate them. Indeed, the processing is part of the overall process. The one informs the other. That is, cycling into the hills makes me creative, and being creative makes me cycle into the hills. It is a reciprocally engendering process which is always fulfilling in the healthiest possible way.

But it wouldn't be half that without my supplies...