As i looked around I could see the whole strath, an area of maybe some 100 square miles in one fell swoop. And I was only a couple of hundred metres above sea level. At any rate, i could see where I was going to go this morning, over there on the other side of the Clyde, near Bridge of Weir and Kilbarchan. It was pishing down, but where I was some five miles to the north it was bone dry. As I scanned the valley I could see that I had chosen wisely this morning in trying to avoid the incessant rain we have been having this early February. My internal barometer was working perfectly. I had found the lull and the eye of the storm again. It's a shamanic skill I have developed over the years of wild cycling, the ability to feel the weather coming. And this morning was a great example. As I have always maintained to those who complain that Scotland is a rainy country, it never rains in Glasgow, or at least as I try to explain after their jaw drops, it never rains everywhere at the same time.
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