Dull: the end of a great adventure

Today was an auspicious day. 12th October 2023 marked the tenth anniversary of the first celebration of Boring and Dull Day. What better time, then, to be arriving at the culmination of my long and almost certainly unique cycling adventure. We had 22 miles left to go and a fine, if rather cool Scottish morning in which to enjoy the magnificent scenery.

Things got off to a start in Killin, our last overnight stop, where we stayed in a rambling old hotel beside the River Dochart. It had plenty of character. The lift, serving all five floors, was at least 100 years old. If you treated it nicely, and fully closed both mesh doors, it would deliver you to your room in style. Long may it live on. The breakfast was impressively large and wide-ranging and on another day I might have seen that as a challenge. But today I had an early lunch appointment and I held back. A little.

Killin is a pretty place. Jenni, who has spent less time than me in these parts, thought it was reminiscent of a Lake District village. I could see what she meant. It was indeed “a bit like” Coniston, if you’ve ever been there. Right down to the tall shop fronts and the dark green paint. But Killin is quieter. Our hotel was busy enough with retired folk up for a walk in the mountains, or so it seemed. The main draw in the village, however, is the Falls of Dochart, just above the point where the main road crosses an old, narrow stone bridge. It is less a waterfall and more a series of cascades and frothy channels where the river churns its way through narrow gaps in the rock. In the past, I have watched children – including my own – play safely on the rocks here, hopping about in between the various streams. But today, after all the recent rain, it was a raging torrent of dark, fast moving water. Impressive, but no playground.

Our ride today took us along the southern shore of the extensive Loch Tay, on a tiny lane that described itself as cycle and walker friendly, which it was, except when an occasional motor vehicle came along in between passing places. The views out across the water and over to the mountains on the opposite shore a mile or more away were never boring or dull, even today when the cloud remained stubbornly low on the mountainsides. I knew they were there because I have seen them before. And they are big. A year ago, I rode along here in the sunshine on my way from Oban to Aberfeldy, one of many wonderful days criss-crossing the Ordnance Survey maps of Britain (in numerical order). But that was in the early stages of another adventure. Today was about reaching the finish point on a single west to east line, spanning two continents. I was very close.

Our cycle-friendly lane undulated along the banks of the Loch for perhaps 18 miles, passing some amazing Grand Designs- style properties with exceptional views and eco-friendly living roofs. Eventually, it reached the eastern end of the lake and the village of Kenmore, whose whitewashed buildings and small marina sat prettily by the water, looking up the length of the loch with the misty mountains tentatively emerging on either side. We passed an old hotel and crossed a fine stone bridge over the broad, fast-flowing River Tay as it emerged from its lake. And hereafter, we stayed close to its banks, all the way to Dull (and indeed for 20 miles beyond to catch a train).

We were now in countryside that was filled with large country estates and castles, with the associated lodge houses, mature trees and estate villages. It was very attractive. The road was quiet and we sped along, mindful that we had an appointment to keep. And then, suddenly, there it was by the roadside: the “Welcome to Dull, Paired with Boring, Oregon, USA” sign. We weren’t yet in Dull, not quite, but the tiny village of Dull, such as it is (population 80), lies a little up the valley side on a quiet lane and nobody would see the sign unless it was here, close to the turning.

I paused for the obligatory photographs and then we toured the small collection of buildings, sitting quietly by the old chapel and the ancient Sanctuary Cross. It felt like a nice place to live, if you don’t mind being a few miles from local shops and services. There is one business to visit in Dull, however: Highland Safaris (which was signposted from much further away than Dull itself). And that was where we needed to be in three minutes time!

Luckily, since Dull is not large, we made it, and as we climbed off our bikes a grey haired man with a fine moustache called to us across the car park. It was Tommy, lifelong Dull resident and my best and only contact here. We went inside the cosy cafe and he treated us to coffee, soup and herb scones. Then we chatted at length about Boring and Dull, how the pairing came about, visitors from overseas and other amusing stories. Tommy was happy to reminisce and we could have stayed and chatted for much longer. An hour flew by. Reluctantly, we had to leave. We had a train to catch. And Tommy had a house to decorate. So we made promises to exchange more information, took more photos (of us pretending to pan for gold!) and waved goodbye.

The ride down the Tay valley continued to be a delight. Dull is in a beautiful location. And we will surely return. The nearest train station is at Dunkeld and we were delayed just short of arriving by a closed cycle path. There was no way past the high fences keeping people away from storm-damaged trees. The only alternative was a small and rather hairy riverside path next to the swollen, angry River Tay: tricky stuff, and we shouldn’t have made the train. But it was running late, so we did! Seamless, as ever. Just the way I like it. By the end of the evening I was catching up with my little brother in a convivial pub in Edinburgh.

And that was that. Another grand adventure completed. What next? I don’t know. But watch this space in the next day or so for some final trip statistics and reflections on Boring to Dull.