Text by Emily MacKenzie
Images by Maximilian Fries
This trip to Scotland was meant to bring me closer to my roots and to help me understand who I am - therefore, I needed to do it in solitude. Only accompanied by a photographer, I conquered my first ever bikepacking trip, approaching my sense of ‘home’.
Day 1
There’s a fine line between excitement and nervousness. I felt frisky that morning and couldn't quite wrap my head around what this experience meant. I’ve always felt at home in two places, being brought up by both a German and a Scottish parent. This trip was meant for me to discover my roots, to find out more about who I am and bring me closer to myself – by bike. After breakfast we left the hotel in Edinburgh. The simultaneity of emotions was overwhelming. I was excited and nervous, calm and content at the same time.
The first day would take us out of Edinburgh, along the beach, over the Forth Bridge and then further north to Perth. The bike moved heavily and steady, helping me calm down, the sea gulls following along. I have never done anything like this before, I haven’t really been riding a gravel bike much let alone ride for several days. There were so many things I feared, so many things that could go wrong, I might get too overwhelmed, and most of all I was scared of coming back to Germany. Of an ending, of arriving. Isn’t that supposed to be the best part of bike-packing?
Day 2
This feeling of being on the right path continued throughout the second day. After having a lovely chat with the B&B owner, we started heading out, accompanied by the bluest sky and sunshine. We rode past a golf course and passed beautiful old stone walls and castles. Making our way through wild bushes as we got a little lost, entering Dunkeld on some path that surely was meant for a mountain bike.
After regaining some energy drinking coffee and petting cute dogs, we continued riding along the river Tay. The weather changed, and so did my mood. All the little things here made me feel so sentimental. The food and the drinks, the language, the weather, the smells. The closer we got to our final destination, the more I felt the tension in my whole body.
And by that I not only mean the signals every inch of my body gave me, telling me, I probably should’ve been stretching more in the past months. It’s more the tension of some elastic material just before it rips apart. Torn between two places, two identities, two homes.
It all came out on that second evening, lying in bed in the B&B in Pitlochry after dinner, tears streaming down my face, emotions that built up throughout the day. I’ve been focusing so much on every pedal stroke, moving forward on challenging surfaces.
The quietness, without the distraction of a tv show or a busy mind telling what task on my to-do-list is unfinished, let the realisation of what I’m doing be as clear as ice. I’m approaching my own sense of belonging mile by mile. And alongside being excited about views, snacks and dogs, I can sense that feeling of ‘belonging’ expanding in my chest.
Day 3
I went to bed last night feeling knackered and worn out, scared and frisky, doubtful. Worry kept awake until way past midnight, memories sting like weapons. Luckily the owner of our hotel recommended changing our route for the first part so we could move forward more quickly. I was quite concerned about today’s route, taking us right through the cairngorms, 70 km from Pitlochry to Kincraig. Entering the valley, Britain’s mountains building up around us, I took some deep breaths, trying to calm my mind.
The scenery was incredibly beautiful, never have I ever experienced such wilderness before. Ahead of us were 5 hours of no reception and overwhelming emotions. At the foot of the mountain An Dùn I realised I messed up. With the path just ending in some swamp, we didn’t know what to do. I could feel the anxiety build up in every inch of my body, my chest, my stomach. I was worried and very close to panicking. We pushed the bikes, one careful step after another, and after a while, we couldn’t believe our eyes.
Right in front of us was Loch an Duin, and I could immediately feel my eyes tearing up. It lay heavy and dark in front of us, this gigantic Loch in between those mountains – us standing right at the shore. I felt so small, almost irrelevant as if I could lose myself in it. After some more hours had passed, we saw a little house on the horizon.
As I got closer, I spoke to the man sitting in his van outside, asking me where I was from, and the most magical thing happened. This man in the middle of the cairngorms, still 100km away from the place of my origins, claimed he knows my dad and my family. I couldn’t believe it. This was meant to happen, I simply don’t believe in coincidences. This conversation lifted me up as nothing else could in this situation, it reminded me why I was doing all this and got me going for the last kilometres, through rivers and more wilderness until we eventually arrived at the hostel in Kingcraig.
I had so many questions, but all I could do was wait. And ride. And trust. As the miles passed, I was able to breathe more deeply and look around, properly. When we arrived at this lovely old house, I knew I was on the right path.
Day 4
It was our last day on the road – only 40 km until our final destination, Tomatin. I felt emotionally sick. My stomach was turning upside down, I felt frisky and far from ready to deal with all the emotions coming up. But I trusted the bike, trusted that it would help me get through and passed this feeling, the steadiness of its moving giving me confidence. And finally, I started recognising the surroundings; I had seen these roads so many times before.
During a wee cry at the coffee stop, sitting all by myself, it finally all sunk in. Why I’m here, what I’ve done, what this means. It all came crashing down all at once. How much this would help me heal.
Once we’ve passed the village sign, I finally felt so much at ease, so much at peace. It wasn’t only about managing the distance and the challenge of bikepacking through Scotland itself, but about the feeling called ‘home’.
It filled every single vein of my body with warm gold. I was right where I was supposed to be.
This trip to Scotland was meant to bring me closer to my roots and to help me understand who I am - therefore, I needed to do it in solitude. Only accompanied by a photographer, I conquered my first ever bikepacking trip, approaching my sense of ‘home’.
There’s a fine line between excitement and nervousness. I felt frisky that morning and couldn't quite wrap my head around what this experience meant. I’ve always felt at home in two places, being brought up by both a German and a Scottish parent. This trip was meant for me to discover my roots, to find out more about who I am and bring me closer to myself – by bike. After breakfast we left the hotel in Edinburgh. The simultaneity of emotions was overwhelming. I was excited and nervous, calm and content at the same time.
The first day would take us out of Edinburgh, along the beach, over the Forth Bridge and then further north to Perth. The bike moved heavily and steady, helping me calm down, the sea gulls following along. I have never done anything like this before, I haven’t really been riding a gravel bike much let alone ride for several days. There were so many things I feared, so many things that could go wrong, I might get too overwhelmed, and most of all I was scared of coming back to Germany. Of an ending, of arriving. Isn’t that supposed to be the best part of bike-packing?
This feeling of being on the right path continued throughout the second day. After having a lovely chat with the B&B owner, we started heading out, accompanied by the bluest sky and sunshine. We rode past a golf course and passed beautiful old stone walls and castles. Making our way through wild bushes as we got a little lost, entering Dunkeld on some path that surely was meant for a mountain bike.
After regaining some energy drinking coffee and petting cute dogs, we continued riding along the river Tay. The weather changed, and so did my mood. All the little things here made me feel so sentimental. The food and the drinks, the language, the weather, the smells. The closer we got to our final destination, the more I felt the tension in my whole body. And by that I not only mean the signals every inch of my body gave me, telling me, I probably should’ve been stretching more in the past months. It’s more the tension of some elastic material just before it rips apart. Torn between two places, two identities, two homes.
It all came out on that second evening, lying in bed in the B&B in Pitlochry after dinner, tears streaming down my face, emotions that built up throughout the day. I’ve been focusing so much on every pedal stroke, moving forward on challenging surfaces.
The quietness, without the distraction of a tv show or a busy mind telling what task on my to-do-list is unfinished, let the realisation of what I’m doing be as clear as ice. I’m approaching my own sense of belonging mile by mile. And alongside being excited about views, snacks and dogs, I can sense that feeling of ‘belonging’ expanding in my chest.
I went to bed last night feeling knackered and worn out, scared and frisky, doubtful. Worry kept awake until way past midnight, memories sting like weapons. Luckily the owner of our hotel recommended changing our route for the first part so we could move forward more quickly. I was quite concerned about today’s route, taking us right through the cairngorms, 70 km from Pitlochry to Kincraig. Entering the valley, Britain’s mountains building up around us, I took some deep breaths, trying to calm my mind.
The scenery was incredibly beautiful, never have I ever experienced such wilderness before. Ahead of us were 5 hours of no reception and overwhelming emotions. At the foot of the mountain An Dùn I realised I messed up. With the path just ending in some swamp, we didn’t know what to do. I could feel the anxiety build up in every inch of my body, my chest, my stomach. I was worried and very close to panicking. We pushed the bikes, one careful step after another, and after a while, we couldn’t believe our eyes.
Right in front of us was Loch an Duin, and I could immediately feel my eyes tearing up. It lay heavy and dark in front of us, this gigantic Loch in between those mountains – us standing right at the shore. I felt so small, almost irrelevant as if I could lose myself in it. After some more hours had passed, we saw a little house on the horizon.
As I got closer, I spoke to the man sitting in his van outside, asking me where I was from, and the most magical thing happened. This man in the middle of the cairngorms, still 100km away from the place of my origins, claimed he knows my dad and my family. I couldn’t believe it. This was meant to happen, I simply don’t believe in coincidences. This conversation lifted me up as nothing else could in this situation, it reminded me why I was doing all this and got me going for the last kilometres, through rivers and more wilderness until we eventually arrived at the hostel in Kingcraig.
I had so many questions, but all I could do was wait. And ride. And trust. As the miles passed, I was able to breathe more deeply and look around, properly. When we arrived at this lovely old house, I knew I was on the right path.
It was our last day on the road – only 40 km until our final destination, Tomatin. I felt emotionally sick. My stomach was turning upside down, I felt frisky and far from ready to deal with all the emotions coming up. But I trusted the bike, trusted that it would help me get through and passed this feeling, the steadiness of its moving giving me confidence. And finally, I started recognising the surroundings; I had seen these roads so many times before.
During a wee cry at the coffee stop, sitting all by myself, it finally all sunk in. Why I’m here, what I’ve done, what this means. It all came crashing down all at once. How much this would help me heal.
