As a boy in the early 80s, I saw the Milk Race come past our house in Lochgelly, Fife. This was a multi-stage cycle event that traversed the UK on regular roads. Our own little version of the Tour de France. The race name referred to its sponsor - the Milk Marketing Board. The competition ran from 1958 to 1993, ending with the dissolution of the dairy association. I remember marvelling at how quickly the bikes whizzed past, and looking out for the rider in the yellow jersey, which identified the overall leader.
Since that spectacle, I had kept an eye on cycling events in the Olympic and Commonwealth Games if there was a chance of a medal for the UK or Scotland. I had watched bits and pieces of the Tour de France over the years, but my knowledge of the two-wheeled scene never got beyond that of a very casual observer. A few weeks ago, word filtered through that a major road race would skirt our home village of Cairneyhill. Over a period of ten days, the world's greatest riders were coming to Scotland to contest the world championships in a number of cycling disciplines. The Men's Elite road challenge was due to pass us on a Sunday morning. From Edinburgh to Glasgow, a distance of 270 kilometres would be covered on public roads, with the finale being 10 laps around Glasgow city centre. I'm a great believer in going to see spectacles such as this. It may be a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, such as the Olympic torch being carried through Cairneyhill in 2012. Joined by friends Shauna and Gareth from Crossford, we walked up to a suitable vantage point on the pavement alongside the A985, where a couple of hundred people lined the kerb. Police Scotland were enforcing a rolling programme of road closures to allow the race to proceed smoothly (at least, that was the theory). The first bikes we saw were of the motor variety. A couple of dozen police outriders blazed the trail and a slew of team support vehicles followed in their wake. Eventually the riders hove into view and we watched them tackle the rising gradient on their way towards us. This was the leading pack. A much larger group followed shortly afterwards. We had a close-up view of world-class sportsmen in action. Once all the competitors had passed, we walked back home to check the progress of the race on television. Sadly, the event was halted on the other side of Falkirk when a group of climate protestors (surprisingly not shown on the footage) glued themselves to the tarmac. Rather ironic that they targetted the greenest form of mechanised transport imaginable. Moreover, did they use their own two legs/wheels to reach the rendezvous point? Methinks not. I don't think they won many people over to their cause. Quite the opposite I would say. Eventually the bikes reached Glasgow, where a degree of monotony crept in as they raced round, and round, and round the city streets. The winner was Mathieu van der Poel from the Netherlands, whose grandfather was also a legend in the sport. A privilege for West Fife to stage part of the race. A real feather in the cap.
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